Obsession
by blubs73
Summary: Darien’s rapidly deteriorating condition isn’t the only thing The Agency have to worry about, as an obsessed nemesis from the past hides in the shadows…and prepares to strike.Chapter 9 rewritten.
1. Chapter 1

Not compulsory, but I would recommend that you read my previous fics; 'The Seeds of Destiny' and 'Will Never Disappear," as my OFC's feature throughout.

I didn't really set out to write a trilogy - actually just wanted to see if I could complete just one - but that's how it's ended up..

Summary: Darien's rapidly deteriorating condition isn't the only thing The Agency have to worry about, as an obsessed nemesis from the past hides in the shadows…and prepares to strike.

**Obsession**

**Chapter 1: Prologue**

**California Correctional Institute for Women**

The tall reed thin man easily matched the rapid pace of the female prison guard as she led the way through the maze-like corridors of the correctional facility, pausing en route only as long as it took to swipe her key card through the mag locks on the heavy security doors. He was very familiar with the routine as he'd been a regular visitor here over the past few weeks.

Eventually they came to a halt before a set of double doors with the sign above advising that they were about to enter the 'Hospital Wing'. This time the guard tapped in a four digit access code and the doors slid open almost inaudibly, and she stepped to one side to allow the visitor to pass through. She didn't follow, instead keeping watch as he headed to a door half way down the narrow corridor beyond and entered.

Georges Menendez, the prison's doctor, smiled, almost in relief, at the sight of his medical colleague. Leaving his nurse to continue taking the blood pressure of the woman lying motionless on the bed, he moved over to meet the man he knew as Dr. James Ferguson, Oncologist.

"How is she?" Ferguson asked softly, his eyes flicking quickly across to the bed.

Menendez shook his head in genuine sadness. He took great pride in offering the best medical care possible for the female inmates, but every now and again a case would come along that was beyond his field of expertise; which is when they'd call in a specialist like Dr. Ferguson.

"Not good doctor, her condition has deteriorated rapidly since your last visit as you anticipated. We waited as long as possible to call, but…"

His statement hung in the air, and Ferguson touched a hand to the man's shoulder and patted it reassuringly. "You did the right thing Dr. Menendez."

He placed his medical bag on the floor and took a step closer to the bed. "I'll need to read over her case notes again, and then do a brief examination of my own to be sure." Menendez nodded agreement. "Then I'd like some time alone to talk to her about the uh…arrangements for her palliative care." Again Menendez nodded; it's what he'd been expecting.

After retrieving a few items including his stethoscope from his medical bag, Ferguson took a couple of furtive steps towards the bed, his version of a sympathetic expression already in place.

A weak smile formed on the woman's lovely face as she turned to acknowledge her visitor. Even terminal illness could not detract from her stunning beauty; if anything it emphasized it more acutely, adding a fragile ethereal quality that made those caring for her feel very protective.

Ferguson had to fight the temptation to push a lock of short raven-black hair from her pale face. All he wanted to do was touch her, but he couldn't do that while Menendez and his nurse were still in the same room; they were over by the door quietly conferring. Keeping up his professional act with some difficulty Ferguson leaned over the bed and asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Like death warmed over," came the strained response and this time Ferguson couldn't help himself and he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. For the benefit of his medical colleagues he then raised his voice so that they could hear his words.

"You know exactly what's happening?" Ferguson asked, waiting for the woman's nodded response and then pausing a moment as if reluctant to continue. "Well then you know the time has come for us to move you to where they have the proper facilities to care for you, until…"

The woman nodded again, with no hint of self-pity in her eyes.

As if on cue, Menendez's voice came from the now open doorway. "Uh, Dr. Ferguson, we'll give you some privacy. I'll be in my office if you need me."

"Thank you doctor, it's much appreciated." Ferguson called out to Menendez as he and the nurse left the room leaving him alone with the woman…at last.

Almost before the door had closed Ferguson's attention snapped back to his patient, who seemed to have undergone something of a miracle recovery in the short space of time. She pushed herself up off the pillows, the wan smile of a few moments before now replaced by something bordering on cynical amusement.

"Bravo, Wesley," Ella Craven purred happily. "I always knew this would work."

Wesley Carter took a quick glance back towards the door. "We're not home free yet, my love," he responded nervously. "We've still got to get you out of here."

"A minor technicality," she responded matter-of-factly, sitting up properly now and languidly stretching her long slender body - lying in bed all day dying was a bitch on the muscles. The drugs that Wesley Carter had been surreptitiously administering to replicate the ravages of final stage leukemia, had actually taken their toll on her system; though nothing she couldn't overcome when she was finally free of this hell hole.

"I've obtained the necessary documentation authorizing your transfer," Carter confirmed. "I'm recommending that we move you later this afternoon."

She smiled again in satisfaction. "Good." Then raised an inquisitive eyebrow "And I assume everything else is running to plan?"

The tall man nodded again, though this part of their plan had always pricked his conscience the most. If he were honest, he'd actually enjoyed his time over the past few months working with Dr. Keeply and the rest of the I-Man team. But his obsession with this woman overrode everything as far as he was concerned.

It was the flash of irritation in Ella's eyes at his hesitance that spurred him to respond. "Darien is virtually bed-ridden at the moment. They moved him back from Fort Leavitt to the Agency earlier this week." Carter smoothed the thin strands of reddish hair over his otherwise bald head.

"And the fools don't suspect a thing?" she asked, shaking her head in awed wonderment.

The doctor allowed himself a thin smile also. "Apart from showing up as a minor abnormality in his blood the drugs in his system are virtually undetectable, that's the way our benefactor designed them. This is why his condition has them all baffled …even the brilliant Claire Keeply. Though I've had to sabotage the tests on a few occasions when she's got worryingly close."

Ella's eyes narrowed at the mention of _that woman's _name, her hand absently rubbing the jaw that had been fractured by Claire's carefully planted roundhouse punch during a dramatic confrontation several months previously.

"I assume the trigger device is still in place?" she asked.

Once again he nodded. "Borden's determination to maintain absolute control of his I-Man made that aspect easier than we ever anticipated," he confirmed..

"That'll simplify matters."

Ella had risked getting out of the bed to flex her under-used muscles and Carter's eyes followed her hungrily. She knew this and played on it; some men were just so damn easy to manipulate, even when she had no intention of satisfying their pathetic 'needs'.

"And what about Agent Hobbes?"

Carter shuddered a little at the mention of the man who always made him so nervous for some reason. "He drops by most days to visit Darien, but Borden has him working virtually 24/7 on different cases at the moment to compensate for his partner's absence. It should be relatively easy to time everything for when he's out on assignment."

"Excellent news." Ella had no doubt whatsoever that all of their carefully laid plans would go up in smoke if Hobbes got wind of any of this. "And our departure?"

"_He_ has arranged all of that," Carter confirmed, referring to their 'benefactor' once again. "A private jet will be ready and waiting for us at Lindburgh Field tomorrow at noon All the official paperwork is in place to authorize the transfer of your critically ill husband, Adrien Franks, out of the country for urgent treatment."

Ella chuckled. After all these months of incarceration, freedom was now tantalizingly close and with it came the chance to get the two things that had kept her focused and reasonably sane during these long, often agonizing months; revenge on Borden and his pathetic little excuse for a top secret government Agency, plus the ultimate prize as far as she was concerned…Darien Fawkes once again under her control.

TBC…soon


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

Tag

Not so long ago I shared with you my personal take on the whole fate/destiny thing, and it sort of went along the lines of: _If we follow our instincts we can prepare for those little surprises that get thrown at us every now and then_. Well, I stand corrected, cause recently my life has taken so many unexpected twists and turns, that I'm starting to get the feeling that somebody up there is determined to make me pay big time for those words.

It's not that I don't expect some form of payback for my less than salubrious law-breaking past, but just when I'm starting to think that the old straight and narrow path I've been treading might be enough to get me a decent break once in awhile, something… nasty… comes along to remind me that assumption can often be the mother of all fuck ups

And what, I hear you ask, can they possibly throw at the poor schmuck this time that's any worse than life's recent dire offerings?

The answer to that, my friends, would be…obsession. And with the brand of crazies who populate my world these days, you know that we're definitely not talking about some casual infatuation here either.

When author John Irving wrote: _You've got to get obsessed and stay obsessed - _it's almost as if he had some insight into what and who was coming my way, cause what I was about to experience - in all it's terrifying glory - was the all-consuming, festering brand of obsession that can only mean a whole heap of trouble for me and mine.

Crap!

* * *

**The Agency - Evening.**

Bobby Hobbes exited the elevator and walked briskly down the dimly lit basement corridor towards Lab 3. Transferring the brown paper bag he held from one arm to the other, he glanced at his watch and muttered a curse under his breath. He was running late and he hated to be late for anything, but especially when he was on his way to spend some 'quality' time with his partner, Darien Fawkes.

The Official had him working double shifts at the moment to compensate for the loss - and Bobby prayed it was just temporary - of The Agency's 17 million dollar Invisible Man. Darien was sick, and the really frustrating thing of it was that no-one really knew what was wrong. The only conclusion the so-called experts, including Claire, had come up with over the past few weeks - and one which frankly terrified everyone - was that the Quicksilver Gland was malfunctioning…possibly dying… and taking its human host with it. And since it had made itself at home so completely within Darien's cerebral cortex, extracting it to potentially save his life just wasn't a viable option. Claire kept telling Bobby that they just had to wait and hope…and pray.

They had all been doing a lot of that lately.

So even though Bobby felt like he could probably sleep for an entire week, there was no way that a little thing like crippling exhaustion would ever be enough to prevent him from this nightly ritual. Over the last two and a half years, the tall ex-thief had come to mean much more to him than just a partner…a fellow colleague at Fish and Game. Darien also happened to be his best friend and the person Bobby was closest to in the entire world., a man he would gladly have given his own life for if the situation called for it. And he knew without a doubt that if their roles were reversed, Darien would readily do the same for him. But on this occasion there were no speeding bullets for him to throw himself in front of, no megalomaniac or mad scientist hell bent on world domination.

And that was the hardest part for Bobby; knowing there wasn't a damned thing he could do.

The heavy steel door to Lab 3 swished open just as he was about to pass his key card through the lock and a tall blond woman came out, and with her attention still distracted by something or someone behind her she walked straight into him.

"Whoa! Hold up there, Keepie." Bobby held out his free hand to try to halt the collision, a hint of amusement in his tone until the edge of the metal surgical tray she was carrying rammed solidly into his chest.

Dr. Claire Keeply, head scientist of the QS-9300 Project, flashed him her best apologetic smile with a slight blush coloring her lovely face. "Sorry, Bobby. Are you okay?"

"Yeah.. No long term harm done," he coughed out, returning her smile with a pained one of his own. 'How's Fawkesy?" he asked quickly, mostly to alleviate her obvious embarrassment.

Claire took another rueful glance back into the room she'd just left. "As obstinate as ever."

"Good!"

From the puzzled look on her face, Bobby realized she'd misinterpreted his quick response the moment he'd said it, so he acted quickly to reassure her. "I mean 'good' in that it's good he's being difficult." He could see by Claire's frown that he was just digging himself a deeper hole. ""Cause if he's back to being a pain in the ass, then maybe Fawksey's on the mend is what I mean. No disrespect intended."

"And none taken," she responded sweetly, sincerely wishing she had some good news for him. But, if anything Darien's condition was getting worse. "He's not had a very good day Bobby,. so try not to stay too long.."

A quick peck on the cheek later and she finally moved around him and down the corridor, disappearing into the Keep.

On entering the Lab, currently equipped better than any modern hospital, Hobbes crept quietly towards the bed doing his best not to disturb the seemingly sleeping figure. But as he neared the man shifted and cracked one eye open warily, a relieved grin forming the minute Darien realized it was Hobbes and not his Keeper or one of the nurses coming back to poke, prod or generally piss him off.

"Hey Hobbesy. How's it hangin', man?" Darien tried to push himself weakly upright on the pillows with Bobby rushing to help, feeling an intense sadness at the increasing evidence of his best friend's deteriorating condition. He'd been sick more or less ever since his return from the DoD, with mild seizures bouts of crippling nausea and vertigo, and his condition had deteriorated dramatically over the last couple of weeks to the point where he was now practically confined to bed - when Claire could keep him there. Recently though, he'd even stopped whining about it…which was a very bad sign.

The Francesca Casati incident had also taken its toll, and Hobbes knew his friend was struggling to come to terms with his enforced separation from the young woman, not to mention his concern over her safety.

Hobbes hung his jacket over the back of a chair, and then carefully began unloading the contents of the brown paper bag and depositing them on the nightstand.

When the Fat Man didn't have him running around on some half-assed assignment, he tended to spend as much of his spare time here as possible to keep Darien's spirits from sagging. A key part of their nightly ritual was for Hobbes to turn up with an assortment of contraband provisions; oatmeal cookies, bagels and even the occasional bacon cheeseburger - much to Claire's voiced disapproval - and despite the fact that it had been several days now since his friend had been able to take solid food, Bobby still kept up the routine.

Darien's grin widened in amusement as he glimpsed the take-out cartons and he rolled his eyes towards the IV line trailing into his arm, jiggling it a little for emphasis. "Tempting bro', but I've already got mine."

Hobbes snorted in mock disgust. "A tank full of unleaded might be okay for you hotshot, but Bobby Hobbes prefers the real deal…like this." With a flourish he produced another large carton of Chinese food, inhaling the delicious aroma and sighing appreciatively. "Mr. Woo sends his regards by the way. Says to tell ya business has taken a dive since you stopped taking out his take-out."

Darien chuckled, even though the smell of Hobbes' dinner from their favorite Chinese restaurant was making his stomach churn slightly; not sure if that was a good or a bad thing.

Bobby delicately peeled back the lid of the carton and had just taken his second mouthful of delicious chicken noodles when the lab door slid open. He glanced up guiltily like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, expecting Claire to enter in full Darien protection mode. Instead Albert Eberts took a hesitant step into the room, smiling warmly in Darien's direction and then focusing his attention back to Bobby.

"Robert, The Official wants to see you in his office on a matter of some urgency."

Bobby stuffed another huge portion of food into his mouth. "Aw c'mon Eberts," he grouched, indicating the food carton and then with his eyes towards Darien's IV line, "Can't ya see me and Fawkesy are having some dinner here."

The young assistant shifted uncomfortably. "I'm truly sorry to disturb you both. But _He_ wouldn't have sent me down here to personally deliver the message if it wasn't important."

Bobby sighed and glanced sideways at his friend, but Darien actually looked just about ready to crash again, his eyelids slowly drooping shut even as he mumbled through a yawn to Hobbes, "Better not keep old fatso waiting."

Staring down at the now sleeping man, Bobby felt a surge of emotion and for some reason knew that he really didn't want to leave him at that moment, but then Eberts was clearing his throat to draw Bobby's attention. With a heavy sigh he gently patted the back of Darien's hand, grabbed up his jacket and followed Eberts up to the Fish's office.

* * *

"_Escaped_, what do you mean escaped?" asked Bobby incredulously, his voice rising several octaves. He stared from The Official to Eberts to Alex Monroe, waiting for one of them to confirm what he thought he'd just heard, 'cause what he thought he'd heard was just about the worst news ever! 

"Wasn't she supposed to be locked away in some high security women's prison or somethin'?" Suddenly he wasn't all that hungry, eyeing his half eaten carton of Chinese with distaste before tossing it into the trash can at the side of the Fish's desk.

Borden shifted his sizeable bulk in his chair and stared across at his agents.

"We just got the call," he confirmed, looking just about as pissed off as Bobby felt. "It happened earlier today. Eberts can fill us in on the specifics… Eberts?"

All three of them turned their attention to the Fish's right hand man, who handed them each a manila folder, opening the one he was holding to relay what was known about the escape.

"Ex-agent Craven had allegedly been extremely ill for some considerable time, and she was being transferred earlier this afternoon to a hospital that could cater for her condition and…uh…special needs."

"Sick or not, that bitch doesn't deserve any special care," Bobby hissed. "They should have locked her up and thrown away the key."

Eberts waited for the older man to settle before continuing.

"Because of the serious nature of her illness, she was no longer considered a risk and her security status had been downgraded. That's why only one nurse and one prison guard accompanied her in the private ambulance… along with a Doctor James Ferguson, her Oncologist. The bodies of the nurse and guard were discovered in a ditch at the side of a highway several miles from the prison. There's no sign of the ambulance and its crew, or of Ella Craven and the mysterious Dr. Ferguson."

Eberts closed his file with a flourish, which Bobby took as some sort of signal to head straight for the door.

"And where the hell do you think you're going?" The Official snapped at his retreating agent's back..

"To check on Fawkesy, Chief. There's no way Cru-Ella's getting anywhere near him while he's sick. And we all know she's gonna try." Bobby fidgeted in the open doorway eager to get back down to the basement.

Borden rubbed the bridge of his nose between thumb and forefinger and sighed wearily.

"Well get back here, we're not finished." Surprisingly this came out as more of a request than an order, and Bobby shuffled reluctantly back into the office.

Borden waited until his agent was settled again before explaining.

"Because of our previous involvement with Craven, we've been asked to investigate this escape. So I want you and Monroe out at the prison first thing in the morning. Find out what you can about this Dr. Ferguson, he's obviously the key to all of this."

"And who's gonna be watching my partner's back while we're all the way out in the middle of nowheresville?" Bobby grouched.

"The protection team around Darien has already been doubled, Robert," Eberts assured.

With a nod of approval in his assistant's direction and a grim smile creasing his podgy features, Borden added, "Don't worry, Darien's perfectly safe. Unless Craven has suddenly developed the ability to walk through walls, she won't get anywhere near him this time."

* * *

California Correctional Institute for Women

Hobbes was tired and his muscles were sore from spending the night on a fold away cot in his partner's room, and when he was tired he got cranky. His mood wasn't being helped any by the attitude of some of the staff at the prison, who while cooperating with them, made it abundantly clear that they could in no way be held accountable for the breach of security leading to Ella Craven's escape.

The Warden, Milton O'Neal, in particular was just about the biggest jerk Bobby had ever met; and he'd met some pretty big jerks in his time. He was a large man; Alex Monroe had muttered to Hobbes that he looked like the Fish's evil twin which had Bobby trying to suppress a smirk for the first few minutes of their meeting. .

It was obvious that O'Neal was in deep shit for this and was looking to pass the buck to some other poor sap on his staff, which is why Doctor Georges Menendez had now been summoned to join the group in the Warden's office. The difference between Menendez and Warden O'Neal was that Hobbes and Monroe immediately liked the doctor, who did his best to answer all of their questions, minus the surly attitude of O'Neal and some of his guards.

O'Neal was also resentful of the fact that the two agent's had more or less commandeered his office for the interviews, with him relegated to the sidelines as an observer. The second time he had tried to butt in and snap a question at Menendez, Monroe had approached the big man and leaned in to whisper something to him. After that he'd noticeably paled, but stayed silent.

Hobbes was now perched on the edge of the Warden's desk staring down at Doctor Menendez, who had just recounted the specifics of Ella Craven's illness.

"So, lemme get this straight," Bobby cut in. "Cru…Craven was diagnosed with a cute mylewhatnot Leukemia a month after she arrived here?"

"Acute Myelogenous Leukemia," Menendez corrected. "That's right Agent Hobbes. And her condition deteriorated surprisingly fast." Something in that statement nagged at Hobbes' but he filed it for later, his attention focused on Menendez for the moment, who continued, "Even though our medical facilities here are good, we don't have the expertise to treat the more serious illnesses which is why call in outside help when needed."

"Outside help like this mysterious Dr. Ferguson, you mean?" asked Monroe and Menendez nodded.

"He came very highly recommended," Warden O'Neal added, cowering down in his seat slightly when Monroe narrowed her eyes in his direction.

"I just bet he did,." the female agent muttered caustically.

"Recommended by whom, exactly?" Hobbes ignored the Warden and directed his question to Menendez.

"You know, I'm not actually that sure," he admitted casting a curious glance at O'Neal. Hobbes and Monroe also turned to stare at the big man, who squirmed a little in his chair and then realized he'd better say something before the scary female agent got pissed with him again.

"We've called in a Dr. Roland Hayes on a number of occasions in the past when we've had to deal with similar cases, cancers and the like. But the poor man met with an unfortunate accident just before Craven was diagnosed…"

"How inconvenient," Monroe cut in arching an eyebrow for Hobbes' benefit.

"That was when one of his colleagues made contact with me to recommend Dr. Ferguson," O'Neal explained.

"Did you run a check on him?" Hobbes asked.

O'Neal's face reddened. "Of course we did," he blustered. "Do you think we're complete idiots here?"

"You said it buddy," came the muttered response, and O'Neal's face grew thunderous.

"His qualifications and references were second to none. We were grateful to have him on board."

"Well pal." Hobbes was getting angry now as well, and he knew it wouldn't do to lose his cool. "Do you wanna know what _our_ security check came up with on _Doctor James Ferguson_? Zilch, zero, de nada., bupkas is what! The man doesn't exist."

"That's impossible..."

"Agent Hobbes is right though," Monroe added. "If you had just made the effort to dig a little deeper you'd have found out that everything about the man was a big fat fake."

O'Neal looked stunned.

"We'll need to review your security footage for the past month," Monroe told the big man who mutely agreed. "I assume it's all logged and stored?" He nodded again.

"Good." Bobby stated. "Let's take a look and see if we can id this mother."

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Claire gave a loud exasperated sigh as she unhooked a scowling Darien from his IV line, then stood aside to watch anxiously as he struggled up unaided off the bed and made his way slowly and laboriously across to the bathroom. The male nurse who had unwittingly caused the current squabble between Keeper and Kept wisely kept out of the way, standing clear across the room.

Deep down Darien knew Claire only fussed because she cared so much and that none of this was her fault, but he wasn't a complete invalid…not yet anyhow…and he'd be damned if he was going to just lie back and let them give him a freakin' _BED BATH, _or let that…that nurse follow him into the bathroom to keep watch in case he expired while taking a goddamned pee. He was of the firm belief that a persons private functions should be…well, private…so bringing in someone to help him with his most basic of bodily needs was one compromise too many as far as Darien was concerned.

As he finally entered the bathroom he flashed another defiant glare as a warning to Claire and the nurse to back off and leave him be, slamming the door behind him with a resounding thud for good measure.

The lovely doctor paused until she felt it was safe to creep towards the bathroom door, but was halted mid-step as the clearly not-amused voice drifted through from the other side. "Keepie._ Go away_!" The sound of the shower suddenly drowned out any response she was tempted to make.

Claire dismissed the nurse, and after a another minute or so of clandestine eavesdropping to make sure Darien hadn't passed out on the floor she made the decision to return to her own Lab, giving it a decent interval before coming back to check up on the stubborn fool - that's if her already fragile nerves could stand the wait.

* * *

Mentally ticking off her 'things to do today' list, it took Claire a moment to take in the deserted hallway and the fact that for the middle of the morning the building was eerily quiet. There was no sign of any of the medical staff brought in to help with Darien's care, or of his personal protection team - at least two of them were usually posted outside Lab 3. The only conclusion she could come up with where security was concerned at least, was that perhaps they'd been called upstairs for an emergency briefing. But she had every intention of checking this with Eberts; the directive from on high was that Darien was _never _left unguarded at any time these days.

The door to the Keep slid open, but with her attention temporarily distracted Claire wasn't prepared for someone to be standing right the other side.

"Bloody hell!" she exclaimed loudly, pressing a hand over her mouth until she could recover her wits. "Oh, Wesley, " she gave a nervous giggle,. "you gave me a bit of a sho…Oh!" her words trailed off into a gasp the moment she caught sight of the three bodies lying sprawled on the floor of the Lab behind him. It was only then that she noticed the syringe in his hand.

"I was just coming to find you, Claire." Wesley Carter's words were almost an apology, and she took a couple of stumbled steps backwards, sensing at once the two figures moving in from either side. A pair of firm hands grasped her shoulders, holding her in place as something sharp bit into her neck and Claire tried to call out but no words would come. Her gaze locked accusingly with Carter's as the sedative took effect and pulled her into an inky blackness.

* * *

Hobbes and Monroe sat in the state-of the-art surveillance room within the facility, fully prepared to spend the best part of the day fast forwarding through the videos stacked in front of them, in the hope of getting a half way descent glimpse of this mysterious Dr. Ferguson. In actual fact, they had what they needed within the first 15 minutes of the very first video, recorded during one of Dr. Ferguson's early visits to 'treat' Ella Craven, before she was moved to the infirmary.

The tall thin man was unmistakably their very own Dr. Wesley Carter.

Monroe looked stunned and Hobbes just sat there for the longest time with his mouth agape. Then a sudden horrifying realization galvanized him to action and he was scrambling to pull his cell phone desperately from the inside pocket of his jacket.

"Oh my God, _Darien_!"

TBC


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Darien opened the bathroom door just a crack and peered out sheepishly, half expecting his Keeper to still be hovering somewhere close by like some over-protective mother hen. But his room was empty.

The shower had gone some way to re-energizing him both physically and mentally, though he hated to admit that his insistence on doing it all by himself had taken its toll. Even so, he'd shampooed his hair and ran some gel through the short strands, giving it the unkempt tousled style he preferred, he had also managed a quick shave, after which he'd dressed in a pair of light blue pajama bottoms - his standard garb these days - teamed with one of his favorite form fitting vintage tee-shirts.

He owed Claire an apology for his churlish behavior earlier on. Apart from Bobby she was closer to him than any other person, and often bore the brunt when the fears and frustration caused by his mystery illness got too much for him. Fears Darien refused to discuss even with her, no matter how hard she tried to get him to open up. So, Bobby provided his usual unwavering support and the much-needed light relief, leaving Claire as the fall guy…or girl. Darien seemed to spend a lot of time these days saying sorry to her.

She'd be back soon enough and there'd be plenty of time to make amends, but for now all that his exhausted body craved was sleep and Darien was maneuvering himself carefully back towards his bed when the door slid open behind him. He glanced over his shoulder fully expecting to see Claire or one of the medical team, instead Wesley Carter stepped into the room and behind him a blonde female nurse pushing a wheelchair.

At first, Carter seemed a little shocked to see Darien on his feet, but he quickly masked this with a smile supposedly to set the younger man at ease.

"Hey Wes. I thought you had a couple days off."

Darien gripped the edge of the bed for support, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him at any minute as he struggled to keep himself upright now. Carter gestured with a quick jerk of his head for the nurse to move forward with the wheelchair, and then he was at Darien's side gently but firmly easing him down into it.

"Ah…yes…I did. But I had to drop by to collect something ." As he was speaking he pulled a sweater from the small locker and handed it to the nurse, who in turn helped a bewildered looking Darien pull it on over his tee shirt..

"We going somewhere?" he asked, feeling a mounting sense of unease for no accountable reason. Carter tried another smile, and this time Darien thought he caught a hint of a nervous tic at the corner of the man's thin mouth.

"Don't you remember Darien. You're due back at Fort Leavitt today for another CAT scan. Dr. Keeply is waiting outside for you in the ambulance."

Darien stared blankly back at the man, running a hand through his hair. "Uh, no…not really. Claire didn't mention it." He glanced forlornly at the door, hoping that at any moment his Keeper would step through it and reassure him.

"Well, she obviously just forgot with everything else going on," Carter bluffed quickly.

Darien nodded his head in shame, convinced then that Claire must have confided in her medical colleague and told him that her Kept had been more difficult that usual this morning. That probably also explained why she'd sent Carter to collect him rather than subject herself to more of his 'bad tempered nonsense' as she so often referred to his bouts of petulance.

Then he was being wheeled quickly out into the corridor, with Carter keeping pace at the side of the wheelchair. Darien looked around. Something definitely wasn't right. It was too quiet for one thing, and where were Tweedledum and Tweedledee, his ever present security clones? The Official would never let him leave the building without them.

A male orderly, this one a solidly built black man who looked like he could easily have gone a few successful rounds with Mike Tyson in his time, was holding open the door of the elevator for them, and as he was wheeled on board Darien glimpsed the unmistakable bulge of a handgun tucked into the waistband of the man's uniform pants.

The elevator door closed behind them and somewhere off in the distance of the basement a phone started to ring.

* * *

By the time the elevator doors slid open at ground level to reveal the long stretch of corridor leading to the main exit, Darien was seriously freaked and it didn't help that he was feeling so crappy. He knew that he had to find some reserve of strength that he possibly didn't have to fight it, cause he sensed that if he left the building with Wesley Carter et al that something real bad was probably going to happen…to him.

They were roughly half way along the corridor when an obviously flustered Eberts emerged from one of the offices, the shocked expression on his face transforming to one of relief as he spotted them, but that lasted only the few seconds it took for the black orderly to mutter a curse as he yanked the handgun from his waistband.

"I thought you said you'd dealt with _all _of the Agency personnel!" the nurse hissed at Carter, and something in that vaguely familiar husky voice had the hairs on Darien's neck standing on end..

"But I activated the gas on every floor." Carter whined, pointing an accusing finger in Eberts' direction. "Why aren't you unconscious?"

Seemingly routed to the spot, the younger man gulped audibly. "Oh my…I…uh…arrived late for work this morning… dentist's appointment. You drugged_ everyone_? Oh my…." he repeated, his anxious gaze meeting Darien's.

"We don't have time for this," the woman snarled impatiently. She turned her attention from Carter to the orderly. "Deal with the geek."

As the gun was leveled in Eberts' direction, a mix of fear and rage gave Darien the energy surge he needed to launch himself sideways out of the wheelchair, grabbing the orderly's muscled arm an instant before the gun blast resounded down the hallway. The bullet slammed harmlessly into a wall, missing a visibly shocked Eberts by a wide margin.

Caught off balance and off guard, the big orderly toppled over taking Darien and the wheelchair with him.

"Ebes…run!" was all Darien managed to gasp out before a solid elbow connected painfully with his stomach, but this was more than enough to jolt the young clerk from his temporary stupor and send him diving through the open doorway of an office, scuttling to slam and lock the door behind him.

The guilt of leaving Darien alone and at the mercy of those intruders was overwhelming, but deep down he knew he really didn't have a choice - it was a plain and simple no win situation with him unarmed and defenseless, and Darien had seen that and acted for him…saved him. He sat with his back to the wall breathing hard, ashamed of his fear and wondering if they would even bother with him when it was evident that they had exactly what they'd come for.

That question was answered a second or two later when the door was pounded from the other side, stopping abruptly as someone – the woman again – urged them to get a move on. Then a loud commotion as they hoisted an obviously struggling Darien up and back into the wheelchair, followed by a harsh slap and a groan.

As the sound of the racing footsteps trailed away, Eberts risked unlocking the door and poked his head out into the corridor just in time to see the group burst through the main exit doors of the Harding Building onto the street. He followed cautiously, reaching the entrance just in time to see Darien being hauled unceremoniously from the wheelchair and into the back of a private ambulance, its engines already revving in preparation for a hasty getaway.

The black orderly was the last on board, closing the doors behind him as the ambulance pulled out fast with a squeal of rubber into the morning traffic. A moment later Eberts' shattered nerves were given another jolt as his cell phone suddenly began to vibrate in his pocket, forcing him to take a few deep breathes before he could recover enough to answer it.

"Eberts, is that you?" Hobbes' voice shouted out immediately. "Where the friggin' hell is everyone? Eberts, are you there?"

"Y…yes Robert."

"Well, what took ya so long?" the voice asked sharply from the other end. "You need to listen carefully. Wesley Carter was in on Craven's escape. My gut instinct is that they're gonna make a try for Fawkes."

Any sense of relief he'd felt on hearing Hobbes' voice quickly dissolved when he realized he would have to relay the terrible news, struggling now to compose himself and recall the correct security alert. Detailed explanations could wait until the inevitable debriefing.

"It's too late Robert. We…we have a Code 6 situation here."

A brief stunned silence was followed by a muttered choked something from Hobbes before Monroe grabbed the cell away from him, her usually 'cool-under-pressure' tone wavering as she fought with her own shocked emotions. "We're on our way back."

* * *

Despite his condition, Darien still managed to put up a spirited struggle in the corridor as they'd hauled him up and off the man who'd tried to put a hole in Eberts, earning himself a powerful stinging backhand from the nurse and a bloodied lip for his effort. His energy level had plummeted dramatically after that, so by the time Wesley Carter and his merry band of kidnappers had him seated once again in the wheelchair and racing for the exit, he was absolutely convinced that he had nothing left to fight with. But that changed the minute he was being forced down onto a stretcher in the back of the ambulance, and confronting one of his worst possible nightmares.

Carter and the orderly wasted no time in fastening the leather restraints - one across his chest the others around his ankles and wrists - but for some reason Darien ignored them, compelled instead to keep his attention focused on the nurse. She stood towards the rear doors, one hand braced again the side of the vehicle to steady herself as it swerved in and out of traffic. Her eyes never leaving Darien as her free hand removed the blond wig and then snaked beneath the collar of her high-necked tunic to snag what looked at first glance like a fold of loose skin. With a great deal of relish, Ella Craven slowly peeled away the rubber mask from her face in long pliable strips. From the amused smile curving her lips Darien knew that his shock was all too evident.

"Hello baby,." she purred, wiping a hand over her face to clear the remains of the sticky rubber residue.

The unsettling feeling those words gave him was actually all the incentive he needed to dig back into that energy reserve for one last valiant act of defiance, figuring he really had nothing to lose. She'd made a vow that the next time she saw him he was a dead man - and he'd believed her.

The opportunity came as the ambulance jolted sharply and Carter, who had yet to buckle the last restraint around Darien's wrist, was thrown off balance. Suddenly free from the bony grip, Darien managed to shove his hand into the doctor's face hard enough to push the startled man backwards. Not that this small bit of resistance did him much good, because now that the hand was free there really wasn't much else to do with it, other than to vainly lash out at anything within reach. This continued for all of the few seconds it took the orderly to grab his wrist and twist it back at an angle, eliciting a sharp hiss of pain from Darien before it too was secured firmly with the heavy strap.

The ambulance siren suddenly blared into life, cutting them an easy path through the heavy traffic.

Carter was back on his feet now and advancing with something that looked like an oxygen mask.

"Get the hell away from me, Judas," Darien spat acidly pulling vainly against the restraints. Even if he'd been at peak fitness it wouldn't have made much of a difference; the leather straps had been reinforced with a Quicksilver resistant metal.

Ella was also looming over Darien now and he visibly shuddered as her fingers started to trace a trail delicately along his temple and then down across his cheek. She pouted mischievously. "Can't we keep him awake for a little bit Wesley, it'll make the journey so much more amusing?"

Darien tried to turn his face away to escape from both the horror of her unwelcome touch and from the mask now being forced down over his nose and mouth..

"My orders were to sedate him immediately. Wecan't take any chances." The doctor smiled down kindly at Darien whose desperate eyes had started to droop, just catching the muffled…_"Aw crap. Not again"… _before he finally succumbed to the full effects of the sleeping agent and drifted into deep oblivious unconsciousness.

A moment later Carter took up position at Darien's side to keep a close watchful check on his vitals signs.. The worst thing that could happen at this stage would be that Fawkes would have an adverse reaction to the sedative. If anything disastrous were to happen to this valuable merchandise in transit then Carter knew full well that his own outcome would be grim.

* * *

**Lindergh Field Airport **

Because of the serious condition of the patient the ambulance was permitted to drive right out on the tarmac to the waiting private jet.

The two customs officials who climbed on board for a cursory check of passports and to ensure that the necessary paperwork was in place before the flight could be authorized for departure, noted that the patient – Adrian Franks – was traveling with his wife, personal physician and a male nurse for private treatment abroad. His documents said he was only 32 years old, but it was hard to tell as much with the plastic oxygen mask covering half of his face, plus the IV drip and assortment of wires and electrodes hooking him to various pieces of lifesaving machinery on board the specially equipped aircraft.

They exchanged brief sympathetic words with the stunningly beautiful Mrs. Eva Franks, who nodded her gratitude and then turned to stare down intently at her critically sick husband, gripping his hand as if afraid to let go.

15 minutes after the customs officers had disembarked the plane was cleared for take off.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

**The Harding Building**

The place was in chaos.

After ending his call with Hobbes, Eberts had initiated the necessary emergency procedures and the entire building was crawling with paramedics and black suited federal agents by the time Hobbes and Monroe returned, probably breaking some sort of land speed record to get back as fast as they had.

They were now assembled in The Official's office, waiting while a skittish paramedic tried his best to treat the Fat Man, whose thunderous mood wasn't helped by a pounding headache, an unpleasant side effect of the sleeping gas. He was still reeling with the news that the Agency had lost its most valuable asset…again…and that three of his people had been murdered

By all accounts most of the Agency personnel had now been revived, and with the exception of the fatalities in the basement – two of Fawkes' close protection team and a male nurse – there were no serious casualties. Dr. Keeply had been found with the bodies, but for some reason she'd been spared the same fate and had only been lightly sedated. At first they'd speculated why gas had been used on the upper levels and not in the basement - which operated on a separate air con system and thermostatic temperature control from the rest of the building - until Claire pointed out that they - whoever _they _were - obviously didn't want to run the risk of it harming Darien.

Although still a little unsteady on her feet she'd insisted on helping the medical team until Eberts - in full assertive mode - had literally forced her to stand down, which is why she was now slumped dejectedly at the conference table head on her arms, while a visibly subdued Bobby massaged her shoulders.

They were all too stunned by the sheer audacity of the kidnapping, coming just months after Darien had escaped the clutches of Ella Craven, and the fact that the mild-mannered Wesley Carter had played such an integral part in it. He'd fooled them all.

When Borden had finally had enough of the paramedic he batted him away irritably, and the young man looked slightly relieved as he gathered together his kit and quickly exited the office.

"Eberts, report!" Borden snapped in a voice still hoarse from the gas. "Have there been any updates?"

"Nothing so far, sir." Eberts responded. He'd taken control of the situation to the best of his abilities, but was now more than happy to hand it back to his superior. "All law enforcement agencies have been issued with the license plate and detailed descriptions of the occupants of the stolen vehicle, including…Darien." he trailed off casting a wary glance in Bobby and Claire's direction.

It was Alex Monroe who spoke, voicing the sheer frustration and helplessness they all felt. "There must be something we can do. While we're sitting here kicking our damn heels, they're probably already across the border into Mexico."

"I've already lost too many people today to have more of my agents running around half-cocked," the Fat Man responded tersely. "For the moment we sit and we wait, and that's an order. If the usual law enforcements APB's don't turn up anything, then we have other methods at our disposal to locate Fawkes. " He was referring, of course, to the DoD devise implanted in the Gland, that they'd never quite got round to effectively de-activating

Claire looked up with a start ready to voice her objections - they had no real way of predicting the harm it could cause to Darien in his already weakened state - but she was cut off abruptly as the phone on The Official's desk began to ring. Eberts obediently moved across to answer it even though it was within arms reach of Borden, then they all watched the color literally drain from his already ashen face.

"It's her," he whispered, his hand shaking as he pressed the button to put the taunting, instantly recognizable voice of Ella Craven onto the intercom speaker

"Hello, losers" she said, followed by a throaty chuckle that unnerved them all more than they would ever care to admit.

"Where's Darien you bitch," Bobby snarled. "If you've hurt him I'll…"

"You'll do _what _exactly, Agent Hobbes?" she hissed back spitefully. "You'd have to find us first But I'll save you the trouble by telling you that we're just about to leave US airspace. And, in case I forgot to mention it, Wesley has already deactivated the tracking devise, so don't even think of trying to find him that way."

Bobby ran trembling fingers over his face. Claire placed a comforting hand on his arm, her touch reminding him that he needed to keep his cool, and he gave an almost imperceptible nod to let her know he was holding it together, just as Craven started speaking again.

"I just thought Dr. Keeply might want to know that our pretty I-Man is in good hands - well my hands actually." She sounded very pleased with herself. "I'd put him on to say 'hello' or rather 'goodbye', but he's sleeping at the moment."

"What do you want?" The Official cut in with a controlled calmness he certainly didn't feel. He could almost visualize the cynical smile on her face at that moment. She was mocking all of them and savoring the moment.

"Nothing from you or your pathetic Agency, that's for sure. Everything I've ever wanted is right here, thanks to my sweet, devoted Wesley and our new employer - an old acquaintance of everyone's I believe."

A silence followed while she waited for them to digest her words, calculating the prime moment to inflict the most pain.

"And this time. you're _never_ going to see him again. The man you knew as Darien Fawkes is dead.".

Static filled the room as she abruptly ended the connection.

* * *

"How could I have been so stupid?" Claire slammed her hand down hard onto the work bench, the assorted glass test tubes and bottles rattling at the harsh impact. Bobby winced. That had to have hurt, but if it did she didn't show it. "The signs were all there, but in my bloody arrogance I chose to ignore them."

It was Bobby's turn to try to calm her now, just as she'd done for him in The Official's office hours earlier. "Carter had everyone fooled Claire, even Fawkesy. It's not your fault."

She stared at him sadly with eyes red rimmed and sore from grief and exhaustion. "No, the blame is all mine," she stated adamantly. " Darien relied on me, trusted me with his health. And I just stood by and let Wesley Carter stick a bloody great needle into him. God knows what it really contained, let alone what else he's been doing to Darien all these months."

"It was supposed to be a placebo." They reeled in surprise at Borden's voice. Neither of them had heard him enter the Keep. He suddenly looked and felt his age. "At the time, I needed you to think he'd given Darien the neutralizing agent to deactivate the DoD Control Devise."

Bobby couldn't help himself and took a threatening step in his boss's direction, fists clenched tightly at his sides. "You evil bastard," he spat venomously. "Are you tellin' me that after everything the kid had been through, you still wanted that nano-nastyleft in his head?"

The Official met Bobby's gaze, shaking his head. "Not the Control Device Bobby, though it didn't do my ruthless reputation any harm to make Carter think I'd use it if I had to." He smiled wanly. "Just as you have your orders to follow, so do I. After we got him back from the DoD, those orders were to put security in place around him 24/7, and to implant a tracking device…with or without his consent."

"And because you knew Darien would never consent willingly, you decided to use a resource already at your disposal thanks to Wesley ." It was Claire's turn to contribute now and if anything she looked angrier than Bobby. "No matter what effect it might have on his health."

"There's no evidence to substantiate that the tracking device could harm him in any way," the Fat Man growled, some of his usual cantankerous bluster returning.

"That's true," she conceded grudgingly after a long pause mostly to make Borden squirm a bit. With an audible sigh she plucked a read out from her printer and waved it in Bobby's direction. "Actually, I've been going over a few of Darien's recent test results, and I think I've detected something in his system that could be the cause of his illness."

Bobby was looking over her shoulder and frowning at the read-out, as if he could somehow decipher the mind-boggling display of chemical symbols. Claire smiled, despite herself.

"A few weeks back some anomalies were found in Darien's blood, but when Wesley re-tested the batch he claimed they were clear. I had no reason to doubt him, but something was nagging at me so I stored one of the samples."

Bobby reached out a hand to squeeze her shoulder and she leaned in towards him, grateful for his reassuring presence.

"So what is it Keepie?"

"I…I 'm not really sure just yet," she answered honestly. "But I think it's some sort of retro virus, designed specifically to target the Gland and give the impression it was…well…malfunctioning and seriously affecting Darien's health. The initial strain was probably injected with the so called placebo," she shot Borden an accusing scowl for good measure, "so that every time Darien used the Quicksilver a little more of the virus would be released into his system. The traces in his blood are minute, almost undetectable but very virulent, to him anyway."

"Are you saying that Dr. Wesley Carter deliberately infected Darien with this so-called retro-virus? But why?" Borden asked incredulously; the man had seemed so…insignificant.

"The thing is," she added, rustling the read-out pointedly for emphasis, "I don't believe he could have come up with this on his own."

"So he was working with someone else besides Cru-Ella?" Bobby asked, his instincts already telling him that he probably wouldn't like the answer.

Claire nodded her head. "There's no doubt that Wesley is a brilliant scientist in his own right, but a virus of this kind would need to have been designed to slowly and systematically attack Darien's unique immune system, and this is way beyond his field of expertise or knowledge. Don't you see," she pressed on more urgently. "This feels like the work of someone who knows _everything_ there is to know about the QS gland…and Darien."

The unbearable stretch of silence was followed by a loud intake of breath from Bobby, who finally managed to gasp out the one name that was on all their lips.

"Arnaud!"

TBC


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6 **

**Latovania - Eastern Europe.**

He was completely mesmerized by the scene playing out in the room beyond the two-way mirror, as the doctor and two nurses worked to revive the unconscious man…who just so happened to be his mortal enemy. A slow smile touched his aristocratically handsome features as he reflected on the long, often tortuous months of waiting, observing, biding his time until the prime moment to pounce and reclaim what was rightfully his.

And in the end it had all been so ridiculously easy.

Wesley Carter cleared his throat in his second or third attempt to gain the attention of Arnaud De Fehrn, who eventually turned his way but still looked somewhat distracted. He'd been so absorbed in his study of Darien Fawkes, that he'd actually forgotten there was anyone else in the small observation room with him. Producing his interpretation of an affable grin, he looped his arm around the thin man's shoulders in an act of uncharacteristic camaraderie; he was in a particularly good mood today and felt like sharing it a little.

"You've done a splendid job, Wesley. I would have paid good money to see the faces of those Agency buffoons when they realized their golden boy had gone."

"It was really my pleasure Dr. De…" he stopped and swallowed nervously as Arnaud quirked an eyebrow in admonishment "..Dr. De Wolfe." Carter finished quickly, fearing that his near slip up might elicit a backlash, but the other man really was in high spirits and decided to overlook the fact that he'd nearly used his real name and not his latest pseudonym. "I've been such a great fan of your work for a long time, so to finally get the chance to work…"

"Yes, yes." Arnaud interrupted waving him aside dismissively. "Quite understandable." Wesley looked a little hurt by the man's casual attitude, until he realized that Arnaud's attention was once again focused elsewhere, and he was now leaning towards the glass partition trying to make out the muffled words of his henchman on the other side. Behind him, two of the medical team were now exiting the room, leaving just one nurse to attend to Fawkes, with Ella Craven hovering territorially in the background.

"Why don't you try turning on the intercom so I can hear what you're saying, you bumbling idiot," Arnaud hissed. "A Chimpanzee could have figured it out by now."

Almost on cue the man flashed an embarrassed smile at his own gaping reflection in the mirror, as he suddenly remembered the button to activate the intercom.

On the other side, Arnaud exhaled impatiently.

"He's awake, sir,." came the voice loud and clear this time.

At last!. "I'll be right in," he advised curtly. Turning to Carter, all calculated charm again now. "Wesley, would you care to join me?"

* * *

The nurse gave her new patient a reassuring smile, then with a light touch of her hand helped him to raise his head from the pillows, pressing the straw to his lips so that he could take a sip of the ice cold water. He gulped at it thirstily and then coughed as the cool liquid caught in his throat. "Not too much," she scolded kindly in her heavily accented English, and was rewarded by a weak nod as he took another more careful sip.

The medical team had learned not to ask questions about any of the Belnickov Institute's 'special patients', or of the covert research carried out within the facility. In a country still struggling to survive and develop in the wake of its bloody civil war and subsequent liberation from its old communist regime, their salaries were twice the current national average and regular and generous bonus payments all but guaranteed the loyalty - and more important - the silence of the staff.

Even so, Liliana Weicz couldn't help but be intrigued by this particular patient. What had piqued her interest mostly was that a severe brain trauma resulting in mental instability and violent behavior had been cited as the reason for his being there, and possibly went some way to explain why the guard and the raven-haired woman had insisted on fastening the heavy leather restraints even before he'd started to regain consciousness. But this young man didn't look at all dangerous - just confused and very scared. He was handsome too, with those dark brown eyes staring soulfully up at her.

She nodded at her two colleagues as they left, their work finished for the moment, vaguely aware that the guard was over by the two-way mirror speaking to someone in the observation room. As she turned to place the plastic cup on the nightstand beside the bed, the patient tugged at the strap around his wrist and there was just enough slack for his fingers to grab the sleeve of her uniform.

"Where am I?" he whispered urgently, with a voice still raw and slurred from the drugs in his system.

Even before she got the chance to respond to his question or react to his touch, she was being jostled aside by the woman who positioned herself between the startled nurse and the bed.

"Get out," she hissed.

"But…but I need to finish…"

The icy blue eyes flashed a fierce warning. "Oh, believe me blondie, you're finished. Now get the hell away from him and get out."

With a quick sympathetic glance back towards her patient Lili turned on her heels and headed for the door, shaking her head in exasperation at the other woman as she left.

In the corridor just outside she passed the very charismatic Dr. De Wolfe, who acknowledged her with a disarming smile as she edged past. The man accompanying him, tall and very thin, she didn't recognize.

Arnaud paused for a moment to stare after the pretty nurse in open appreciation. At any other time the pert little blonde might have been a welcome diversion, but for the moment he couldn't allow anything to distract him from his goal, and that goal was currently strapped to a hospital bed just a few feet away.

The look of unmitigated shock on Fawkes' face when he stepped into the room was utterly priceless. Though to give him credit he did a good job of masking it quickly with a trademark glib remark.

"Well this just keeps on getting better and better,." he managed to rasp out weakly, shaking his head in sheer, almost amused disbelief. "All I need now is for Jarod Stark to walk in though that door, and I've got me a full set of psychos."

Arnaud grinned back amiably as he strolled across the room and perched his tall, wiry frame on the edge of the bed.

"It's good to know that you're mentally on form Fawkes, though it's such a shame that the same can't be said about your physical well being, hmm?"

Darien tested the restraints in the vain hope that one of them would snap, and then he could get his hands around the Swiss Miss mother's scrawny neck.

"Let me loose _Arnie, _and I'll demonstrate firsthand just how sick I am?" he growled, even though he knew he could never follow through on the threat in his current condition. Still it felt damned good just to say it out loud.

"It's true to say that I may have underestimated you in the past, but believe me I have absolutely no intention of doing so again," he countered smoothly. "And while I'd certainly gain a degree of personal satisfaction in beating you to a senseless pulp, physical violence doesn't fit in with my immediate plans for you or our little bio-synthetic friend."

Wesley Carter decided this was the moment to contribute. "If you've had a chance to study the updated medical files I sent to you, then you're aware of the extent of the Gland's integration within his cerebral cortex?" He kept his attention focused on Arnaud, doing his best to ignore Darien's deadly scowl.

"Of course, " Arnaud confirmed. "Though it becoming so utterly 'attached' to him is something we never anticipated. However, Fawkes, you'll be relieved to learn that I don't need to harvest _your_ Gland any more," he paused deliberately, giving one of those superior smug smirks of his always guaranteed to piss Darien off. "I've successfully cloned more of my own."

"Then what the hell am I doing here?"

Arnaud rose slowly and deliberately, and wandered to the opposite side of the bed. "Yes, well we still have a few …uh…minor side effects that need to be eradicated before we can achieve a successful implantation into a human receptacle, but we're so very close." He continued unabashed, choosing to ignore the amused snort from Darien's direction. "In the meantime , however, our host in this fine …third world…country is getting impatient and is threatening to revoke his protection unless he sees some immediate results. Plus I am in urgent need of additional funds to continue my research."

He held out his hand with a flourish for Ella, who accepted it willingly and allowed herself to be led back into Darien's direct line of sight. "The customers this delectable creature had lined up for you a few months back are still out there, you know, all eager to get their grubby little hands on an invisibility gland. But, unfortunately, none of them are willing to pay up in advance without conclusive proof that we can deliver. So during the interim period I require a fully functioning demonstration model."

Darien couldn't suppress a giggle.

"This is a joke right, just you and your wacky ole Swiss-Cheese sense of humor?" Shaking his head in wonderment now. "'Cause there's no freakin' way I'm gonna perform on demand for you or anyone else…but particularly for you…or her," he added with a defiant glance at Ella Craven, who winked back at him. "You can't make…"

Arnaud cut across Darien's protest, an irritated twitch touching the corners of his mouth as he spoke. "Oh, I'm perfectly aware that I wouldn't get an iota of cooperation from the petulant, aggravating wise-ass that we've all come to know and…hate…with such a passion. Which is why you're going to be…_reinvented_.." He let that statement hang in the air for a minute, relishing Darien's look of bewildered confusion. Good. Catch the little prick off guard and then go in for the strike. With this in mind he suddenly changed track, his fingers trailing up and down the IV line currently delivering a clear liquid into Darien's system. "And how are you today? Feeling a great deal healthier than you have for some considerable time, Oui?"

Darien just glowered back, with no intention of responding. Even if it was true, that he did feel kind of well…better. Although from Arnaud's supercilious tone he hadn't expected a response anyway.

"My little retro virus was an act of pure genius, even if I do say so myself. We even fooled your lovely Keeper, didn't we Wesley?" Carter smiled thinly and nodded, though he still couldn't quite bring himself to look in Darien's direction. Now in full self-adulation mode Arnaud carried on, barely noticing his colleague's unease.

"You know Fawkes, I'm not too proud to admit that I was monumentally pissed off when my last attempt to infect you with that Influenza virus failed so miserably. That's when I first realized that the Quicksilver Gland had begun to integrate - it was the only logical explanation as to why it too was so badly affected . So this time the solution was blatantly obvious. Reverse my original strategy and create something nasty …but not lethal…to directly target the Gland and it in turn would debilitate you."

By this time, Ella Craven had taken Arnaud's place on the edge of the bed, and Darien visibly recoiled as her hand began to slowly and rhythmically stroke its way up his pajama-clad leg.

"It's also thanks to Arnaud's genius that I'm here now and not languishing in the poky. Betcha didn't realize we knew each other, huh baby?" She squeezed the top of his thigh playfully. "Actually, we're second cousins."

Darien snarled. "I shoulda guessed that you two crawled out of the same rotten gene pool."

Choosing to ignore the barbed insult, Arnaud smoothly picked up from Ella. "We first met at a Great Aunt's funeral in Geneva when I was fresh out of Med School and Gabriella was just a rookie Agent. Our relationship has flourished on a personal and professional level ever since."

"It's been mutually beneficial for both of us," she added with something bordering on hero worship in her voice.

"I just bet it has," came Darien's muttered retort. "Cold-blooded murder and terrorism obviously runs in the family." He jerked his body in another attempt to stop Ella's fingers from wandering, but all this achieved was a throaty chuckle from his tormentor.

"Now, now, ma cherie, there's plenty of time for all of that," Arnaud advised indulgently "In another 24hrs hours when the antibodies have done their work and the virus is completely flushed out of his system, our Invisible Man will be going through one of the Institute's innovative behavioral programs. After that the new improved version will be all yours to play with…body and soul."

"That'll be a cold day in hell," Darien spat back with more bravado than he actually felt, because suddenly his attention was drawn to an item Ella now dangled playfully a few inches from his face. It looked like a small digital watch, but he knew exactly what it was and what it meant for him, and he was forced to swallow back the bile that rose in his throat.

And it was at that precise moment, with Ella Craven on one side of his bed taunting him with the threat of the dreaded DoD Control Device and Arnaud De Fehrn looming over him on the other - like two voracious predators about to pounce on their prey - that he was finally overcome by a surge of genuine, all-consuming panic.

* * *

The petite figure adjusted the woolen scarf around her head, doing her best to protect her exposed flesh from the driving icy sleet that fell from the heavens that night. She picked up her pace as she moved quickly along the winding, cobbled streets of the medieval village, passing stone and mortar buildings with thatched roofs that had been here for hundreds of years

Although fairly certain she hadn't been followed, she still paused to take a quick look back just in case, before turning a corner into a narrow alleyway and then heading for a heavy wooden door at the far end.

Several pairs of inquisitive eyes turned to study the visitor as she entered the small tavern, but all relaxed as soon as she removed the scarf to reveal the familiar cascade of shoulder-length blonde hair.

Lili flashed a warm smile of greeting at the elderly bartender as she moved behind the counter and to a door that led through to the kitchen, where two men sat huddled around the large open fireplace. One of them, a dark-haired, stocky young man in his late twenties, immediately jumped to his feet as she entered and pulled her into a tight embrace.

"Put her down, Rudy," came the amused voice of Mikhail Tzarnov after a few moments had elapsed. "Poor Lili must be frozen, let her come warm herself by the fire."

"I can think of a few _inventive _ways to warm her up," countered Rudy, much to his elder brother's amusement.

Lili tutted in mock disdain as she finally extricated herself from Rudy's arms and took her place at the fireside, holding out her hands to warm them. Beside her, Mikhail filled a glass with a double shot of vodka, then watched in open admiration as she took it down in one swallow, emitting a long sigh of pleasure as the burning liquid hit the back of her throat.

"That's better," she said, wiping a hand across her tingling lips. "Now I feel almost human again."

Tzarnov took a more tentative sip of his own drink while he waited for the young woman to begin her report. Before Liliana, there had been several unsuccessful attempts to put an agent in place at the Belnickov Institute, so for her to even risk breaking cover like this meant it had to be something that she felt was vitally important.

"They have a new patient, an American,." she advised, speaking directly to Mikhail.

"What can you tell us about him?"

Lili shook her head. "Not much I'm afraid. But my instincts tell me that there's something different about this one, that he's important to them."

"In what way?" asked Mikhail. In the long months since the Institute had come to the attention of their group, they had observed and reported on many 'volunteers' - mostly ex-military - who had entered the facility and never to be seen or heard of again - though to his knowledge this was the first foreigner.

"I don't know," she admitted with a shrug. "But it's obvious he's not there willingly. We were told he has some form of brain damage and can be extremely violent, so since he arrived just over a week ago he has been restrained at all times."

"Surely that makes complete sense, doesn't it?. Otherwise he could harm himself…and others." Rudy decided that he needed to be the voice of reason here. Apart from his brother, Lili was the one person he cared for beyond any other and he never ceased to marvel at her unrelenting compassion and dedication, but it wouldn't be the first time she had allowed emotion to cloud her judgment. The real question was, could this one man really justify their attention at all or would it just detract from her current mission; which was to find out exactly what sort of research they were doing at this private Institute.

From the flash of irritation and disappointment in her eyes, it was blatantly evident that Lili wasn't happy with him at that moment.

"Does that also explain the armed guards?" she snapped crossly for his benefit, before turning calmly back to Mikhail. "He is under the personal medical supervision of Dr. De Wolfe and guarded around the clock. Security is overseen… almost obsessively… by a black-haired woman with cold eyes." Lili shivered involuntarily, but quickly composed herself to continue her report. "About 4 days ago he was suddenly transferred to another part of the facility for what we were told was 'intensive therapy', and I haven't seen him since. Only staff with the appropriate security clearance have access to him now, and I've not been there long enough to be trusted."

Without waiting for a response she reached deep into the pocket of her heavy coat and a moment later withdrew a small digital camera, waiving aside the lecture on compromising her personal safety that she knew was about to come from Rudy.

" It was worth the risk," she stated determinedly before he even had a chance to berate her for taking foolish chances. "I have photographs of all the key medical team including Dr. De Wolfe and the woman I've mentioned. There's also someone else, a visitor, who I know will be of interest. I took this one yesterday." Lili carefully scrolled through the gallery of snapshots until she found the one she wanted - it showed Dr. De Wolfe in profile on the steps outside the main entrance to the Institute, talking to a man. The individual in question was in his late 50s with thick dark hair, graying at the temples pushed back from a sharply handsome face. She then held out the camera for Mikhail so that he could see the image now displayed on the small screen.

Though Mikhail was visibly stunned he didn't react immediately, instead he sat ramrod straight lost in a myriad of thoughts and emotions, his fingers trailing over his goatee beard distractedly as he wondered what connection someone like Theodore Tomaszko could have to the Belnickov Institute. Nothing good would come of it that was for certain because Tomaszko was a truly dangerous individual.

His personal fortune had been amassed in the wake of the unrest and turmoil in the decade since their civil war, where he and many unscrupulous individuals like him had ultimately prospered from the pain and suffering of the general populace. Drugs, prostitution, arms dealing were his forte, but if the rumors were true he now coveted real power and would do anything he could to get it, which is why he had recently stepped forward as one of the three main candidates in the forthcoming Latovanian Presidential election.

Rousing himself from his temporary stupor, Mikhail finally addressed his younger brother. "Rudy, it might just be worth putting in a call to our CIA friends to see if the American's have mislaid an agent recently."

Rudy nodded obediently. Mikhail always expected his orders to be carried out without question.

"Lili. You should keep a close watch on Dr. De Wolfe and his team. See if you can dig up anything of interest on your American. But don't take any unnecessary risks, do you understand?" She also nodded and Mikhail reached out to touch her lovely face affectionately. "Good work, by the way."

* * *

Little did anyone realize then the importance of Lili's American, or the fact that he was about to become a key element in their ongoing battle for peace and stability in their small country.

It would be more than two weeks before Lili would set eyes on Darien again, and when she did the change in him was alarmingly evident.

She had just finished a long night shift and was returning wearily to the staff quarters housed on one of the lower levels, when she was forced to step aside to make way for the group moving quickly down the narrow vaulted passageway. At the front was the raven-haired woman, with the tall young man trailing obediently behind her. An armed guard and a white uniformed orderly brought up the rear.

As they swept past, Lili thought she'd caught his eye and smiled, but even though he stared back at her briefly his gaze was vacant and devoid of all emotion.

TBC


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Charles Borden gazed up from the mound of paperwork that littered his desk, a scowl on its way to forming until he saw Albert Eberts peering furtively around the half-open door. The look of excitement plastered across the younger man's face was more than enough to curb the Fat Man's temper…for the moment anyway; though its continuation very much depended on what his assistant had to report.

He randomly noted Eberts' 'crumpled' appearance as he scooted into the office without waiting for permission to do so. His normally immaculate suit would have benefited from a visit to the local dry cleaners and his white shirt was creased with the collar hanging open, no sign of a tie at all. Eberts was speaking before he was half way to The Official's desk and before Borden could snap a reprimand at his Agent's untidy appearance.

"I…I may have found him, sir" he stuttered out quickly, wiping a hand across eyes bloodshot and weary from their prolonged staring at his computer for hour after hour searching for any lead, no matter how small or tenuous, that might aide them in their hunt for Darien Fawkes. And he certainly wasn't alone in the amount of time he was willing to dedicate - the Agency personnel had been working around the clock since the day of the kidnapping, exhaustion one of the prices they were all prepared to pay if it got them their colleague…and friend…back safely.

Borden held up a chubby hand to stop Eberts before he had the chance to say anything else . "Let's get the rest of the team in here. If you think you've got our first solid lead, then they all deserve to know about it."

By the time Hobbes, Claire and Alex had arrived and gathered around the conference table in Borden's office. Eberts was a bundle of pure, nervous energy, and Claire squeezed his shoulder and smiled encouragingly at him as she moved past to take her seat beside Bobby. She knew that he still partially blamed himself for Darien's abduction, for not being able to do something…anything…to prevent it, even though they had all gone to great lengths to convince him otherwise. Subsequently, his guilt had manifested in an almost manic determination to get them the breakthrough they so desperately needed.

"What ya got for us Ebes?" Hobbes asked eagerly, his own fatigue forgotten for the moment. His appearance had also suffered the stresses of the last few weeks; he looked as if he had aged ten years at least.

As a team, he and Alex Monroe had pursued every conceivable lead they had; interviewed numerous contacts including former colleagues of Wesley Carter, Ella Craven and, not forgetting, Arnaud De Fehrn and waded through endless hours of cctv footage from in and around San Diego right to the airport - the last confirmed sighting of their I-man as he was wheeled on board a private air ambulance, which had subsequently disappeared from the radar about a third of the way across the Atlantic Ocean.. They had even been to the State Pen to see Arnaud's brother, Huiclos, in the hope that he might have some insight into the current whereabouts of his notorious sibling. But despite their best efforts, all they'd drawn so far was one big fat blank.

"I…uh…think I know where Darien is," he repeated for the group this time, staring from one to the other of the individuals who were closer to him than family. Four eager pairs of eyes watched as he tapped the keyboard on his small laptop computer, which he'd set up while waiting for his three colleagues to arrive. "I found it almost by accident when I was doing my routine check across certain secure Government databases…this came via the Central Intelligence Agency" All the while he spoke his fingers were gliding rapidly across the keyboard.

Hobbes fidgeted impatiently, unable to cope with the waiting. "So c'mon _Eberts_, what's the 'it' you found? Spill before I have to shake it outta ya."

Albert drew in a long deep breath to steady his own nerves and then began to report in his own methodical style. "As you are all well aware, the CIA keeps a very watchful eye these days on the international arena, particularly certain Middle Eastern countries and also parts of Eastern Europe, where not surprisingly there's still a great deal of political unrest."

He turned the laptop around so that the group could see the map of Europe now on display.

"What the hell are we looking at," Hobbes griped.

"Patience, Robert. I'm getting to that," Eberts advised with a tight smile as his finger traced down the map, stopping at a point just between Romania and Hungary. "Latovania," he announced proudly, tapping the screen.

"I've never heard of it," said Alex Monroe, leaning forward and squinting to get a better look at the tiny speck on the map.

"Well that's not surprising, "Eberts informed her authoritatively "Up until 1989 it was actually part of Hungary. But after the Berlin Wall crumbled, the Latovania's decided to oust their old communist regime and seek independence, like most of their neighbors. There followed a brutal and bloody civil war, and in actual fact…"

Claire sighed. "Albert, sweetheart, stop showing off Let's have just have the Cliffnotes version of Latovanian history, hmm?"

"Or maybe he would just get to the freakin' point," Hobbes mumbled churlishly.

"Hobbes, enough with the sarcasm." The Official decided it was time to take control before the sniping got out of hand, as it inevitably would. "Eberts, get to the point."

"Well, sir, I would do just that if certain individuals would try to be a bit more patient," came the slightly terse retort, combined with an irritated side glance at Hobbes. "Over the years, the CIA have worked to forge close relationships with various Intelligence Groups throughout the entire region, which has proved mutually beneficial to all concerned in terms of sharing of information and resources. One such group is the LMI - Latovanian Military Intelligence," he explained for good measure. "About two weeks ago, one of their teams working covertly in an area about 70 miles outside of the capital - Grudsk - filed a report to their superiors, who in turn passed it on to their local CIA contact."

Another quick tap on the keyboard and the image on screen changed from the map to that of an imposing medieval castle, its stone tower rising over 150 feet into the air, standing proudly in the center of a water-filled moat and complete with its own solid wooden drawbridge A moment later and the image morphed yet again to an aerial shot of the building and the surrounding area; a combination of lavishly landscaped grounds bordered on all sides by a lush, dense forest. And nothing else of any relevance for miles around. A seemingly impenetrable fortress in every sense of the word.

"Impressive. isn't it?" Ebert stated happily, ignoring the threatening growl coming from Bobby's general direction. " Parts of the site date back to the 13th Century."

"But _what _is it, Albert?" Claire asked for all of them, wishing too that her friend would just get on with it before Bobby did something drastic, fuelled by his current highly emotional state.

"It's the Belnickov Institute. Once a virtual ruin until it was restored to its former glory by its present owners, who use it now as a private clinic. A high percentage of their considerable annual income comes from offering convalescence and alternative treatments to patients with brain tumors or other injuries, or those with Parkinson's, Alzheimer's etcetera - provided their families can afford it, of course.

"It's also a medical research facility, and that's what brought it to the attention of the LMI. Their agent in place reported on the arrival of a new patient about three weeks ago…an American."

"But what makes you so sure it's Darien?" asked The Official. He wasn't prepared to let his agent's go off on some wild goose chase half-way across the world without some hard evidence. The last few weeks had thrown up too many false leads.

A smile of genuine pleasure spread across Eberts' pale face as he hit his keyboard with a flourish. "This!"

Claire gasped for all of them as the grainy picture taken with Liliana's digital camera downloaded. And there for all to see - standing with another man they didn't recognize - was Arnaud De Fehrn.

Despite his considerable bulk. The Official was up and out of his chair with an agile grace, and barking out orders as he moved back to his desk.

"Hobbes, Dr. Keeply…and Eberts," he paused to stare proudly at his assistant who visibly blushed. "I want you on the first flight to Latov…wherever. To hell with it - Eberts, let's roll out the private jet." Turning to Hobbes now he lowered his voice slightly. " If our boy is there, I want him back and you have the authority to use any means or resource at your disposal to get him, understood?."

Bobby nodded his confirmation.

"Agent Monroe," he barked, before Alex could even voice her outrage at being left out. "You're staying here with me, it's F&G business as usual for you while these three are off gallivanting around Europe.

TBC


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 8**

"You _are _joking…I hope?" Arnaud asked through a strained half smile, struggling to conceal his soaring temper from Theodore Tomaszko. It would never do to show any sort of negative emotion in front a man like this.

"I am deadly serious, Arnaud," came the clipped response. "You should know me well enough by now to realize that I _never_ joke."

Tomaszko, accompanied by a couple of his burly bodyguards, had turned up that morning unannounced to check on progress with the American agent and then, more alarmingly, demanded a demonstration of his 'abilities'.

Even though Tomaszko had witnessed the Quicksilver at work firsthand, albeit briefly, during one of their disastrous early attempts to implant it into a human host - which resulted in a massive brain hemorrhage and the subsequent death of the unfortunate 'volunteer' - he now wanted conclusive proof that his faith in Arnaud and his team had been justified and that invisibility was a reality.

Arnaud had argued that they shouldn't push Fawkes to 'perform' too soon, but against Tomaszko's forceful and unrelenting insistence he had lost. And now, the results of that lay huddled and trembling in a corner of the treatment room with arms covering his head, while Wesley Carter and another doctor tried to tend to the traumatized and barely conscious man.

Of course they'd had to resort to increasingly heavy jolts from the Control Device to get him to co-operate, and Arnaud only hoped that all the hard work put into Fawkes' 'Effective Psychological Conditioning' over the last few weeks, had not been jeopardized and they hadn't pushed too far, too soon.

The sheer brilliance of EPC - which had been developed by the specialists at the Institute for their more violent and uncooperative patients, and then fine-tuned by Arnaud specifically for Darien Fawkes - had been that in just a few short weeks, working practically 24/7, they had managed to break through his complex emotional and intellectual barriers. Though the journey certainly hadn't been without its share of setbacks, almost entirely due to Fawkes' initially stubborn resistance to just about everything they subjected him to during 'Phase 1', including isolation, sleep deprivation and numerous threats and punishments. But Arnaud had anticipated a spirited fight, and had to admit that he would actually have been a tad disappointed if the annoying thorn in his side had given in too easily.

But everyone has their breaking point and they inevitably found his, with an inspired combination of drugs, shock tactics, desensitization and ultimately the use of the Control Device to deliver carefully calculated doses of excruciating agony, overwhelming his exhausted body and finally his mind.

If the first phase was all about submission, then 'Phase 2' was when the really delicate work began. This was where they suppressed his old memories and overlaid them with new ones which were, of course, all part of the 'back story' specifically created for him.

Darien emerged believing that he'd been in an accident and had suffered a brain trauma resulting in amnesia.

He was also still aware of the Quicksilver Gland and of his ability, but in the revised version of his life he was an ex-NSA agent now on the run from his former employers. And Ella Craven was his long-time partner…both professionally and personally.

Of course, until the EPC program was complete Fawkes was still prone to the odd act of defiance - like the display in front of Tomaszko which had resulted in a painful retaliation - along with random flashbacks to his old existence. But very soon they would be ready to move into 'Phase 3', which would ensure that not only did his memory loss became permanent, but by use of a trigger word they would also be able to influence his psyche and then invariably his actions.

And that day couldn't come soon enough as far as Arnaud was concerned. But their ultimate objective would be achieved that much faster if he was allowed to get on with their work without unnecessary interruptions, particularly in the shape of a huge pain in the ass like Tomaszko.

The man had been truly awestruck when Fawkes had finally been 'persuaded' to cooperate, watching in rapt fascination at the first beads of metallic silver materialized, slowly spreading and coiling around his tall frame until he just…disappeared. Discarding his invisible cloak a few moments later in a glittering array of tiny flakes, that left the Latovanian staring in open-mouthed disbelief.

Now, Arnaud could hardly believe what the idiot was asking…no demanding. He expected them to have Fawkes operational and ready for a special project by the weekend.

Drawing in a deep breath to calm himself, he decided to try reasoning "Theo…we are still only half way through his conditioning program. It's at a very delicate stage…"

Tomaszko rounded on him instantly, his dark eyes flashing fiercely, a finger jabbing into Arnaud's chest. He felt rather than saw the two heavies move in from either side.

"I offered you refuge when you had nowhere else to run, gave you protection when your enemies were snapping at your heels, provided financial support and a secure facility so that you could carry on with your research," came the uncompromising response, followed by a deliberate pause. "Now it's payback time, Arnaud."

"But you can see that his behavior is still a little…unpredictable. Until we have…"

"Just do whatever you have to do to ensure he's docile and pliable. I have every faith in you not to disappoint me. That would be most…unfortunate." With that Tomaszko swept out of the room his men obediently on his heels, leaving Arnaud to stare dazedly after him.

"Of all the egotistical, pigheaded, motherf…"

"I assume you're referring to our uninvited guest?" Ella Craven said as she stepped into the room, indicating with a contemptuous sneer over her shoulder in Tomaszko's direction. "The man's an asshole, Arnaud," she hissed. "Why do we even need him?"

Arnaud pulled her onto his arms, nuzzling her neck. "Because, cousin dear, without his money the whole project - my life's work - would have come to a grinding halt. It's not easy being on Interpol's '10 Most Wanted Terrorists' list - eventually you just run out of places to hide," he sighed deeply. "Unfortunately, I don't anticipate us really being free of Theo until I can pay the bastard back with interest for his 'hospitality'. And I won't be in a position to do that until after our little Quicksilver auction. In the meantime, he's got me by the balls and he knows it."

Pulling back now slightly to hold Ella at arms length, as he wanted to check her reaction to his next bit of news. "You know, part of the deal was that Theo would eventually become the proud owner of his very own Quicksilver Gland, but I have a sneaking suspicion that he'd settle for your lover boy once we have him fully house trained."

Ella stiffened immediately, glancing over to where the man in question was now sitting upright with his back resting against a wall, docilely letting Carter wrap a blood pressure cuff around his upper arm. "Never," she spat angrily, her eyes narrowing to slits as she turned once again to face her cousin. "After the auction, he's _mine_. We had a deal, remember!"

With a completely deadpan expression, Arnaud studied for a long while and then, incredibly he began to chuckle. "You should see your face."

"And you shouldn't make jokes at my expense, Arnaud," she said softly, the tension so evident a moment before disappearing now. "It's 'till death us do part' all the way for me and Darien. We've got places to go, clients to see. Invisibility is going global." Ella ran the back of her hand down the side of Arnaud's face. "You'll get your full share too, I promise. A deal's a deal after all."

Arnaud nodded. "I never doubted you my sweet. But for the moment we have no choice but to grant Theo's request, even though I'm not absolutely convinced Fawkes is ready yet. So, let's just hope the little prick behaves himself… for all our sakes."

* * *

Meanwhile, about 90 miles north on a small private landing strip, the Agency's private jet touched down, and Rudi Tzarnov was there on the rain-drenched tarmac to meet Hobbes, Claire and Eberts. 

On the journey, Rudi briefed them in flawless English on developments at the Institute so far, with a promise of a more detailed update later. He then spent the rest of the journey flirting outrageously with Claire, pointing out different landmarks along the way and recounting bits of old folklore much to her delight. It was a beautiful country. Lush farm land giving way to rolling hills and dense forests the further inland they traveled, through tiny villages that hadn't changed much in hundreds of years and some locals who still favored the Latovanian traditional garb; the men in dark trousers, shirts and a sheepskin coat and usually accompanied with a hat that resembled the western trilby. The women also went for dark and functional, their skirts belted at the waist and embellished with rich embroidery, topped by a sheepskin waistcoat and heavy woolen shawls of black maroon or gray.

It was later afternoon by the time they reached their destination - a small farmhouse just outside the medieval village of Siska, the LMI's current base in the region, and Mikhail Tzarnoc greeted them all at the door like long lost friends.

Bobby warmed to the man immediately. On the long journey from the States, he'd carefully scanned through the file the CIA had provided on the Latovanian Military Intelligence and on Tzarnov and his group in particular. It always paid to do your research and if these people could lead him to his partner, then he wanted to know as much about them as possible.

Tzarnov had fought for his country's independence during the civil way and was a patriot through and through, and now he and his small but efficient group fought to ensure that Latovania remained a democracy. They had been investigating the Belnickov Institute for six months, since the rumors of its unconventional research first came to the attention of their superiors.

Now from what Tzarnov told Hobbes and the others, it appeared that a man - Theodore Tomaszko - who was currently the rank outsider in the forthcoming Presidential election - was somehow connected to the place. How, they didn't know, but Hobbes would have taken a bet that it had something to do with Arnaud De Fehrn and it wouldn't be good.

Of Darien there was little news. Since their agent had filed her report there had only been a single sighting of him, and the one attempt made to gain access to the secure part of the clinic where he was now being held had nearly ended in disaster. So Tzarnov had ordered her to back off for the moment for her own safety.

The group were now huddled around a large oak table in the kitchen of the farmhouse studying a map of the area and several photographs of the castle.

Eberts cleared his throat. "Pardon me Mr. Tzarnov, sir."

"It's just Mikhail," Tzarnov corrected with an easy smile.

"Of course. Well…uh…Mikhail, if everything we've seen and read about it is true, then the Belnckov Institute is an impenetrable fortress."

Hobbes joined in then, shifting in his seat and leaning over the table to snag one of the photographs for emphasis. "Eberts is right. The only way in seems to be over that bridge and through the front door. We could try it, but I don't imagine we'd get much in the way of a warm welcome from ole Arnaud or his cronies."

Mikhail watched while his brother went round the table and replenished their guests' glasses with another generous shot of vodka. Nodding his thanks, Bobby took his down in one swallow; not much of a drinker but unwilling to offend his hosts, Eberts just sipped delicately at his, while Claire - looking decidedly glassy-eyed and swaying a little in her seat - seemed to be savoring every mouthful.

"Tunnels," Mikhail stated, then quickly drained his own glass with a long pleasurable sigh.

"Huh?" from Bobby.

"Tunnels," he repeated. "Leading into the castle. If you know where to look."

"And we know where to look," Rudi added with a mischievous wink at Claire as he took the seat next to her, seemingly oblivious or even ignoring the slight narrowing of eyes from Bobby.

"A remnant from around 1426 and one of the original landowners, Count Boris Sokoloff. It is rumored that the Count dabbled in the black arts and had the tunnels dug out so that he and his fellow 'occultists' could come and go as they pleased, without fear of being disturbed. There's also evidence to suggest that they imprisoned many innocents in the dungeons down there and conducted human sacrifices."

Across the table through the flickering candlelight, Hobbes watched Claire give a visible shudder before draining her vodka glass completely.

Eberts let out an audible gulp.

"Many of the tunnels have collapsed over the years, but at least two are still intact," Mikhail continued. "My operative has been using them for months to get in and out of the Institute undetected. It's a condition of their employment that medical staff live on site, and they are watched very closely. With the exception of a select few none are really trusted."

Taking over from his brother again, Rudi unfolded another map - this one a detailed drawing of the internal layout of the castle - and laid it out over the table.

"When the castle was renovated, the entire lower level including the old dungeons were left untouched. We're not sure why, but it could be because it was just too expensive - after all it's very dark and damp down there - or maybe they just wanted to retain something of the original 'charm'."

The new owners are either unaware of these tunnels, or have just forgotten they exist. We only discovered them ourselves with the help of one of the locals, a poacher."

"Their loss is our gain, huh Rudi?" Mikhail grinned at his younger brother.

"But what about the moat?" asked Eberts curiously.

Rudi responded quickly with a chuckle.. "It's man made and only about 30 feet deep, the tunnels run beneath it. Don't worry my friend, you won't get your feet wet".

Mikhail stared at the three Americans. "So, it's agreed. Tomorrow night we will get you into the clinic. Let's just pray that your young friend can hold on for one more day."

* * *

Later that same night, Bobby stood outside in the ramshackle farmyard staring intently off into the distance. It had stopped raining for the moment and the clouds parted every so often to give a glimpse of the full moon. 

The front door creaked open and he didn't have to turn to know that it was Claire coming to find him. She gave him a playful nudge and he smiled, his arm encircling her waist and pulling her in close.

"Are you okay, Bobby?" she asked softly.

He nodded. "Yeah, I guess. Just thinking about Fawksey, I know this is gonna sound freaky, but I can almost sense him."

"That's not surprising, you two have a special bond. You're closer than brothers"

She felt him tense suddenly. "Fat lot of good that did the kid, huh? I was the one supposed to protect him and I let that bitch Craven get her hands on him…again. And because of that, De Freak has had Darien for nearly a month, plenty of time to screw with the Gland."

"Oh no," Claire grabbed his chin and pulled his face round so that he had no choice but to look at her. "Let's drop the whole guild trip thing. Been there, done it," she scolded. "If you're to blame, then we're all to blame."

"But…" Bobby tried.

"No 'buts'," came the firm warning, though her grip on his jaw did relax slightly and her finger ran a gentle trail along his cheek

"I know you're right, Keepie," he said softly, "but I've got a bad feeling about this. Call it intuition or something. I just hope we're not too late, that Fawksey hasn't given up on us."

Despite the comforting warmth coming from Bobby and the reassuring pressure of his arms around her, Claire shivered and not just from the cold night air. "Wherever Darien is tonight, I'm sure he knows we're here and that we're coming for him."

* * *

Darien came awake fast, choking back a sob as he fought to quell the still lurking terror of the nightmare. Pushing back the covers tangled around his long sweat-drenched frame, he rolled to the edge of the bed and sat up, running shaky fingers over his face and then through his hair. 

The figure in the bed beside him stirred restlessly and then reached out to caress his lower back, coming to rest on his exposed hip. He gave a resigned sigh before turning slightly as the touch became more insistent.

"Another bad one?" Ella was asking, and for a split second he thought he could detect a note of irritation in her voice even though those beautiful concerned eyes staring up at him belied that suspicion. He nodded absently, still too freaked by the vaguely familiar images and raw emotion dredged up by the dream to trust his voice.

A moment later she was kneeling behind him, with her arms draping themselves around his naked torso and her chin settling on his shoulder.

"Dr. De Wolfe said it's to be expected with the sort of brain trauma you've suffered. The dreams…and they're only dreams baby…will fade in time."

"I know, but they just seem so…real."

"Okay, so which one was it this time?" There it was again! And this time there was no mistaking the slight edge in her tone. "The creepy blind man?"

He shook his head.

"Bigfoot trying to make out with you?"

"Nuh, uh,"

And then he felt her body stiffen, fingers that a second before had been delicate and soothing in their touch, suddenly digging into his chest until he jerked and tried to pull away.

"Not _those_ women?" she hissed spitefully.

"No…ouch…Ella Take it easy.!" He somehow managed to prize the talons from his tender flesh and stared down in bewilderment at the angry red marks left in their wake

Even if the women in question - a blonde with a crisp British accent, and the dark-haired beauty with the green eyes - had featured as part of tonight's nightmarish episode, he would have been stupid to admit it. Not after the last time, when his confession had resulted in an oddly violent reaction from her. Sheesh, it was just a dream after all It wasn't as if he was being unfaithful or anything if they were just in his dreams, was it? Besides, he wasn't the unfaithful type. At least he didn't think so, but just lately he'd sort of forgotten a lot of things about himself.

"It was the one where the little bald guy gets shot, okay!" he stated guardedly, letting out a relieved breath an instant later as her body relaxed against his once again.

"By you?"

Shaking his head. "At least I don't think so."

"That's a shame," he thought he heard her mumble acidly, but couldn't be absolutely certain. And then her hands were all over him, urging him back into bed..

"Right now you need to get some rest. You've got a long session with Arnaud tomorrow and then on Friday we're going to Grudsk."

Darien nodded reluctantly. He was really looking forward to an entire weekend away from the Institute, but he shuddered at the prospect of spending any more time than absolutely necessary in the company of De Wolfe. Even though he knew the doctor was just trying to help him, there was just _something_ about the man that made him uneasy. And why was it that he never had any vivid recollections of their 'sessions', beyond feeling oddly unsettled most of the time.

But these concerns gradually evaporated as Ella's lips started working their magic on the nape of his neck. "And I've got just the thing to get you to relax, pretty boy," she said teasingly, moving to his collar bone.

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah," she purred, nipping at an ear lobe. Then she was in his arms, their lips coming together for an intense, bruising kiss.

Before he lost himself completely to the passion of their lovemaking, his mind drifted back to his most recent dream and to the image of the little guy. Why the hell should he care if he got hurt? And who were those women and why did the name Frankie seem to be important. His emotional connection to these people felt so real.

He needed answers. But all things considered maybe now - as Ella's lips moved downwards to lavish attention on another part of his body - wasn't the best time to ask

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter 9**

"Jeez. Does it ever stop raining in this freakin' place?" Hobbes sniped irritably, wiping a hand across his head and sopping strands of hair. He was wet right the way through to his birthday suit and then some. As if on cue thunder rumbled angrily in the heavens and a lightening bolt ripped through the night skies, illuminating the ramparts and the imposing tower of the distant medieval structure against the dark horizon.

"Great, just great," he grouched. "We got Count Dracula's castle, we got a wild electrical storm for dramatic effect. Now all we need are some torch wielding vigilante villagers to make it complete."

Claire sniggered. Even though she was also soaked to the skin she didn't mind too much, and something about Bobby's constant griping was reassuring in an odd sort of way.

A faint scuffle from somewhere ahead had Hobbes pushing Claire back into the relative safety of the crumbling and derelict woodsman's cottage; their temporary shelter against the foul weather. From there they both watched cautiously as two figures emerged from the forest and headed towards them, with Bobby only relaxing enough to lower his gun when they were close enough for him to identify Rudy. The other had to be the LMI female agent in place at the Institute.

Now they were all crouched together in the one section of the cottage that afforded some cover from the elements, and once introductions were out of the way Lili brought them quickly up to date on activity within the Institute.

"I haven't seen your agent for several weeks, but I know he's still there and probably undergoing some sort of behavioral therapy," she advised Bobby and Claire gravely.

"You need to get him out of that place and as far away from those devils as soon as you can."

"With your help we aim to do just that," Bobby responded firmly, earning himself a rueful smile from the young woman.

"And speaking of the devil." Lili turned to Rudy, eager to share some more important news. "Tomaszko paid us another visit earlier this week. Rumor has it that he was there to see their young friend."

Rudy spat something out harshly that sounded like a Latovanian curse.

"So who's this Tabasco mook?" asked a curious Bobby.

"It's not so much 'who' he is Agent Hobbes," Rudy responded grimly, "but 'what' he is. And what he is, is a very, very dangerous man."

Lili leaned in a little towards the two American agents, as she was greatly intrigued by the 'looks' they had been sharing. "What could someone like Theodore Tomaszko want with your friend?"

Claire sighed knowingly. "Oh, I bet I could think of something."

**Later that same night…**

Bobby Hobbes had never considered himself claustrophobic, but about half way into their long descent through the ancient underground tunnel he began to get the feeling that everything was closing in around him. An all-pervading stench of decay and neglect surrounded them, and it also didn't help that it was so goddamned dark; the small flashlights they all carried as part of their kit barely illuminating the oppressive gloom. Every so often though, a beam would pick out one of the eerie wall carvings lining their route, and it crossed Bobby's mind that the demonic little figures were following their every move.

They had entered through a small fissure which lay a short distance from the woodsman's cottage, set somewhere deep in the forest and obscured by dense foliage and large boulders. Even in daylight it would have been virtually impossible to locate if you didn't know what you were looking for.

Now Lili led the group as they picked their way carefully through the decades worth of debris, including some of the heavy wooden crossbeams that should have been supporting the roof, and large chunks of stonework that had eroded and crumbled from the walls. Their route was made that much more treacherous by the inches deep covering of dark stagnant water, and at one point Bobby had stumbled on a piece of rubble and lost his footing going down heavily on hands and knees, which is when a lot of the cold mucky grime had seeped over the top of his boots so that he now had to suffer with every squelching step.

To add to the general angst, Eberts' latest pride and joy - state-of-the-art miniature digital transmitters - had been on the fritz practically from the minute they had started their descent, and any and all attempts to establish contact with their colleague, waiting topside with Mikhail Tzarnov, had met with a hiss of static.

Just as Hobbes was fighting the irrational urge to hot foot it back along the tunnel and into the open, they came to an abrupt halt at what appeared to be a dead end, waiting while Lili directed her flashlight to one of the blocks on the wall ahead marked with another creepy carving of a half man/half goat creature. Reaching up on tiptoes she touched her hand to the carving and almost immediately a section of the wall slid aside with a loud grating of stone on stone. Then she was beckoning them through to the small ante-chamber that lay on the other side, this one already lit by the lantern she had left there earlier.

"Is this it?" Claire asked in a strained whisper, and Lili nodded. "Thank heavens! That tunnel gives me the bloody creeps."

"Yeah, you and me both," Bobby chimed in. "Do we gotta come back this way?"

"Unfortunately, we have no other choice," answered Rudy, who obviously hadn't enjoyed the experience much himself.

"It's not so bad when you get used to it," was Lili's amused response, as she waited for them to edge past her into the small chamber. Then she pressed another carving and the wall slid back into place behind them.

Just ahead was an archway through which a staircase was just visible in the half light. Once again Lili guided the way, with the other three following in single file as they negotiated the narrow flight of steps leading up into a larger chamber and the infamous dungeons, which were every bit as grim as they had all imagined. The chamber itself was oval in shape with a stone slab at its center, now covered in moss, grime and other stuff that none of them really cared to examine too closely. Six solid looking wooden doors with iron grills lined each side of the oval.

Their collective relief was obvious as they exited the dungeons via yet another staircase, this one was steeper and longer than the last, curving and twisting its way up to the main part of the castle, and when they finally reached the top and another heavy oak door Lili held out a hand to still them.

"The kitchens, utility rooms and some of the staff quarters are on the other side of this door, so we need to take great care from here," came the warning in a hushed tone. "Without the proper security clearance or access codes to the level where they are holding your friend, I can only get you so far. After that we will have to….," she searched for the correct word in English.

"Improvise," Bobby offered helpfully, earning himself a quick nod of gratitude from the young woman. "Story of my life since I've been working with Fawkesy," he mumbled, though Claire was the only one who recognized the irony in his voice.

Without further need of conversation Bobby and Rudy both drew their handguns, with Bobby now moving to take point. He waited until the others indicated they were ready, then carefully turned the heavy iron handle on the door and opened it slightly, peering around the crack as a precaution. The hallway beyond was a marked difference from the bleak and disused part of the castle from which they had just emerged, even though the walls were of a clinical white, made all the more stark by the overhead neon lighting.

With the coast clear, Hobbes pushed open the door all the way motioning the others out, and they moved rapidly down this long stretch of hallway to the staircase at the far end and up into the main part of the Institute.

* * *

Although still retaining the character of the ancient structure, including stone walls, ornate arches and flagstone floors, this next sub level was warmly lit with small lights set into the high vaulted ceilings, and had an air of modernization and elegance. Dark polished wooden doorways lined the passageway, and although both Hobbes and Claire felt the overwhelming need to locate Darien, they just couldn't resist a quick glance into some of the rooms beyond..

Nearly all were offices, labs or examination rooms of varying sizes, some with state-of-the-art equipment that had Claire green with envy and wishing she could get her hands on just a few items for her own lab back in San Diego. Towards the end of the passageway they came to an unmarked door that Lili advised led to Dr. De Wolfe's private consulting rooms. Hobbes tried the handle just out of curiosity and was amazed when the door clicked open. Quirking an eyebrow at Claire as they entered into a large, stylishly furnished office complete with large open stone fireplace, expensive rugs and a rich tapestry adorning one entire wall; probably to compensate for the lack of windows at this lower level. Two doors led off from the office; one into a white room with a large two-way mirror at one end and a black leather examination chair at its center.

With a look of distaste, Claire idly fingered the reinforced metal bands positioned strategically to hold the occupant in place at the head, the neck, across the chest and at the wrists and ankles. There was only one person who sprang to mind who would possibly warrant this type of restraining, and from Bobby's thunderous expression she knew he was thinking the same; Darien had been held down in this chair at some point, going through God knows what at the hands of Arnaud and his new playmates.

Suspended from the ceiling right above the chair, was a plasma screen and the image still frozen onto it made them both draw in a sharp breath: it was a shot of a smiling Darien with his arms draped around an equally happy looking Ella Craven.

Bobby struggled to keep control of his emotions. "I've seen that picture before. Fawksey has it on the nightstand by the bed in Lab 3, only that one is of him with his girl Frankie, not the Bride of Dracula."

"Well, it's obvious they've got a copy and superimposed _her_ face onto it," Claire stated acidly.

"But for what purpose?" asked a curious Rudy, who had held back in the doorway with Lili.

Claire responded distractedly, biting her lower lip. "If everything we suspect about this place is true, then my guess would be some sort of brainwashing or conditioning." She shared another anxious look with Bobby. "The good news would appear to be that whatever Arnaud's up to this time, he obviously needs Darien intact…meaning no harvesting…" touching the back of her head to stress the point, without giving too much away to their Latovanian colleagues, "…and tractable. The bad news is that we have absolutely no idea what we're dealing with."

The second door in the office - this one heavy reinforced metal - was sealed tightly shut and protected by a coded key pad. A cursory attempt to open it was aborted, which was frustrating because they suspected that Arnaud's lab lay on the other side. But in the end they just didn't have the time necessary to override the complicated security access codes. Bobby kicked the door in frustration before he turned to follow the others back out into the passageway.

They ascended four more levels using the steep staircase. Passing through Level One and the large, grandly appointed lobby and reception, which served as the official and respectable front of the Belnickov Institute; Level Two, where there were more therapy and treatment rooms plus the patients' rooms and facilities. Of the remaining levels; Three was reserved for very senior personnel accommodation, with the top floor being the Institutes version of 'maximum security', and only a select few were allowed access. This is where Darien was undoubtedly being held.

There was an elevator that would have taken them up as far as Level Three, but they avoided it to minimize the possibility of an encounter with a random member of staff or security - even at this late hour.

It was on the second level where fate decided to play them a favorable hand.

The staircase ended abruptly here, and to continue upwards they needed to traverse the entire length of passageway right to the end in order to take up the next section. As they were about half way along, a doorway suddenly opened and they all rushed to flatten themselves the other side of an archway, holding their collective breaths. It was as the footsteps neared that Hobbes decided to take a risk, peering cautiously out from their hiding place. What or rather _who _he saw heading their way, brought a malicious smile to his face and he raised his handgun in readiness, motioning to the others to remain quiet and still.

He pounced the instant the tall, thin figure drew level, reaching out to grab the man by the collar of his casual sweater and slamming him into the solid wall; his gun digging into his face, daring him to move a muscle.

Dr. Wesley Carter grunted in pain and his fingers vainly clutched at the book he had just obtained from the Institute's well stocked library, as his eyes stared in abject terror at his assailant - Hobbes- and then darted to a smirking Claire Keeply.

"Well, well. Lookee who we have here," Bobby snarled, keeping his voice low. The muzzle of his gun grinding spitefully into the taller man's flesh. "If it ain't everyone's favorite traitor."

"Oh my God…" was all he managed to choke out before Bobby released his grip, only to double him over with a sharp jab to the stomach. When he could finally catch his breath again, Carter tried to work through the pain and focus tear-stained eyes on his former colleagues. His gold-rimmed glasses had been knocked sideways as he'd stumbled, and he now used a shaking hand to push them back up his sharp nose. Anticipating more of the same at any moment from Hobbes, it was actually Claire who grabbed him next, pressed him roughly back against the wall and sunk her fingers viciously into his groin, twisting until she was rewarded with a high-pitched squeal from the man, which Bobby quickly smothered with his hand.

"You've turned a funny color there, Wes," Bobby advised through a grin. "And the lesson for today is: _Never _part a Keeper from her Kept." He took a threatening step forward, though perfectly happy to leave the physical stuff to Claire for the moment. "Where's Darien, you asshole?"

Behind them Rudy and Lili kept a careful watch on both ends of the hallway and waited.

"I…1 don't…," Carter blustered, yelping as Claire gave his private parts another eye-crossing squeeze. He swallowed audibly. "She…Ella will kill me," he whined miserably as his knees trembled and threatened to buckle from under him..

Bobby shrugged. "So what! If you don't give us what we want in the next five seconds, then our lovely Claire here is probably gonna rip off your cojones and stuff 'em down your throat. Ain't that right Keepie?"

Taking a moment to flip a strand of blond hair casually from her face Claire smiled sweetly but there was no mistaking the pure malice in her voice, "If he's lucky." Carter gulped again, never doubting for a moment that she would carry out the threat, his prominent Adam's apple bobbing up and down in his throat.

"Five…four…"

"Okay, okay," Carter cut in resignedly. "I'll tell you where he is." Whimpering in relief as the pressure on his groin was immediately relieved. Claire stepped back, her lovely gray eyes sparkling with amusement as they locked momentarily with Bobby's.

"Better still, weasel," Bobby added as his hands began a skilful search, easily finding the keycard in the back pocket of Carter's plaid pants. He held it up in front of the terrified man's face. "You can take us to him."

Grabbing Carter's upper arm, Hobbes propelled him into the passageway. "And don't try any funny business."

Bringing up the rear of the group with Rudy, Lili grinned after the two foreign agents. "They may be a little crazy, but I'm growing fonder of them by the minute."

* * *

Ella Craven pushed herself up from the pillows and reached out a hand to switch on the small bedside lamp, rubbing the sleep from her eyes.

There it was again; a soft tapping on the door of their quarters, Grabbing her wristwatch from the nightstand she squinted to check the time and groaned. 0300 hours.

Beside her, breathing softly and sprawled face down lost deep in a partially drug induced sleep, was Darien. His intensive session with Arnaud for most of the previous day had left him dazed and chronically exhausted, so by the time they'd arrived back here - just before midnight - he had just about enough energy and logic remaining to shower and change into some loose sleep pants and a vest. After that he'd virtually collapsed on the bed and hadn't really stirred much since then.

She ran a hand delicately up and down the curve of his long lean back and he mumbled something incomprehensible, shifting slightly.

As the tapping became more insistent she finally rose with an exasperated sigh, pulled on a red silk robe to cover her nakedness and headed for the door.

"Alright, alright. I'm coming," she grouched irritably, as she tied the belt at her waist. "This had better be damned important."

A quick check through the spy-hole revealed the slightly distorted image of Wesley Carter, and she vowed to skin the annoying man alive if this wasn't a life threatening emergency. They all had an early start in the morning.

With not much more thought, she tapped the four digit code into the keypad on the wall and a moment later the electronic locks slid back and the door clicked open.

"This had better be imp…," she started to repeat her earlier threat just as the heavy door suddenly crashed all the way open, the impact knocking her off balance. Her reflexes soon took over though, and with an angry cry she made a dash for the small dining area and the gun still hanging in its holster over the back of a chair where she'd left it earlier..

She was fast, but there was no way in hell Bobby Hobbes was going to let her get the better of him again, taking her down with a flying tackle in a tangled mass of wildly flaying limbs. The enraged woman lashed out at him desperately, with hands clenched tightly into claws, knees and feet trying to target his legs and groin, all the while screaming obscenities. In the end, it took a couple of powerful backhands to knock the fight from her just long enough for Hobbes to flip her onto her stomach, and then with Lili's help fasten the cuffs around her wrists. Lili then took great pleasure in slapping the silver duct tape over the woman's mouth, ignoring the outraged glare.

When he was sure she would cause no immediate problems, Bobby hauled Ella roughly to her knees then went to join Claire, leaving Rudy and Lili to watch over their two captives.

Claire was kneeling at the side of the bed, speaking softly to the still sleeping form as she gripped his wrist between her fingers, checking his pulse.

Bobby looked on anxiously, the relief at seeing his best friend still in one piece almost overwhelming "Is he okay?"

"Hmm, I think so," Claire responded, now in full doctor mode. "His heartbeat's a little erratic, but he might be having a bad dream or something. She patted his face gently, calling to him. "Darien, come on sweetheart. Wakey, wakey."

When all this achieved was a bad-tempered grumble and an attempt to bat them away, she tried again, adopting her sternest Keeper- tone, the one she sometimes used on him when he was at his most petulant. "Darien Fawkes, you open your eyes right this minute, or else."

They were almost instantly rewarded by a quick jerk of his body and then soft brown eyes that squinted open one at a time to fix dazedly on them. Seconds later as full consciousness was restored he scrambled upwards and desperately backed away, staring wildly from one to the other, breathing heavily.

Bobby's hand reaching out to placate him just seemed to cause more distress, so he pulled back looking to Claire for guidance, but she just shrugged in bewilderment..

And their confusion was increased further when Darien finally found his voice and managed to rasp out to two of the people who had haunted his dreams of late.

"Whoever you are, keep the hell away from me!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

A cursory search found some clothing for Darien in a large walk- in closet, and now that he was dressed in jeans, dark sweater and a loose jacket and handcuffed securely to Bobby, they were ready to make good their escape. But he was still skittish and refusing to budge without Ella Craven.

"I ain't going nowhere without Ella," he repeated, tugging on the other end of the metal cuff in a show of stubborn resistance. The woman at the center of the dispute was still on her knees across the room, a pleased smirk evident from beneath the duct tape.

"Fawkes," Bobby scolded in exasperation. "We don't have time for this crap. Now let's get the hell out of…" He jerked his arm and made a grab for his friend.

"Nope,." Darien shook his head furiously as he took another step backwards. "I swear to God you'll have to carry me out of here without her."

"Agent Hobbes, we have to go," Rudy urged. They had been inside much too long now as it was.

Claire, who had done a good job of calming her Kept and had even coaxed him into getting dressed, now took on the role of mediator. "If it gets Darien out of this horrible place, let's just bring her along Bobby. Who knows," she continued, this time glaring straight at Ella Craven, "there might even be a reward for her capture."

"Well, if she's going, I'm coming too," announced Wesley Carter matter-of-factly.

Bobby rolled his eyes incredulously. "This is unbelievable. Why don't we go wake up the rest of the castle, see if anyone else wants to come traipsing through that big 'freakin' hell hole with us."

Lili pulled Ella to her feet. "I'll get her dressed, then we really need to get out of here."

* * *

The journey down into the depths of the castle and then back along the dreaded tunnel went without incident, though it was possibly too much to hope for that they would get in an out undetected, and their fears were confirmed as soon as the group emerged from the cave. Muffled shouts and barking dogs could already be heard from somewhere deep in the surrounding forest, with powerful beams of light piercing the darkness.

"Did you losers really think it was going to be that easy?" taunted Ella Craven, making Bobby wish he hadn't given in so easily to Darien's request to remove the duct tape from her mouth.. "The alert went up the minute you took him out of the Institute."

"The sodding tracking device," Claire groaned.

"Well, there's nothing we can do about it now," Bobby said, urging Darien and the rest of the group quickly onwards

The news he'd just received from a stressed sounding Eberts wasn't great either. In the hour or so it had taken them to make good their escape, the Institute's security team had thrown a tight cordon around the entire area, blocking off roads and other access points to the village and effectively preventing Eberts, Tzarnov and their transport out of here, from reaching the agreed rendezvous point. The orders Bobby had been given were to continue as planned and try to hold out until their two colleagues found a way to reach them.

_Well, at least it's stopped raining, _Hobbes thought grimly, as he brought up the rear of the group as they moved rapidly through the dense forest.

* * *

"So lemme get this straight." Darien said as he walked alongside Claire, ducking his head slightly to look at her. "I work for a secret government agency with you and that little wacko guy...Robbie..."

"Bobby." Claire corrected.

"..and Ella's not my partner and I don't work for the NSA?"

"Well, you have been loaned out to them on the odd assignment, but 'no', you've never been a full time employee of the NSA and you have definitely never been that woman's partner…in any sense." She threw a scowl at the back of the woman in question who was currently several yards ahead of them with Wesley Carter. Rudy lagged just a little way behind the pair with his gun at the ready.

It was dawn and after a long and wearying hike through the dense woodland, they were now only about a half a mile from the rendezvous point. What on paper had been the fastest and most straightforward escape route was now complicated by the tenacity of the hunting pack, and several times over the past few hours they had been forced to backtrack or take cover to evade the constant threat of detection.

And with their pursuers still hot on their trail and probably in possession of a tracking device, they just had to hope that their luck would hold and they could keep their lead long enough to make the rendezvous with Eberts and Tzarnov. For this reason, Hobbes and Lili had decided to scout ahead of the group to ensure that nothing unpleasant was lying in wait on the home run.

Darien raised the back of one of his cuffed hands and rubbed it wearily across his eyes, shaking his head in disbelief. "Wow!"

As he struggled to absorb what he was hearing his gaze was drawn to Ella, who kept glancing back at him with an almost burning intensity and it took a huge effort on his part to focus his concentration. He knew without the shadow of a doubt what she expected him to do and the consequences if he didn't go along with it. Eventually, he managed to drag his bewildered attention back to the woman known as Claire.

"Don't you remember any of it?" she was asking with a look of genuine concern and Darien's response was an almost regretful shake of his head.

"It's weird, cause I feel I _should _know you both - you don't seem like complete... strangers.. if you know what I mean, but… " he sighed wearily, "Hey, I'm sorry."

Claire reached out and gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. "Don't be sorry sweetheart. Heaven knows what Arnaud and these...these bastards have done to you, but I promise we'll put it all right when we get you home."

Ella Craven let out a short cynical burst of laughter. "What _we've _done to him What about what you and that Agency of yours have done to him?" She took another glance back at Darien. "Don't listen to her, baby. I warned you about them, that they'd try to twist the truth, to turn you against me…us."

He was more confused now than ever, but he knew deep down that he would always do what she asked and exactly what she expected of him now. Time was wasting, he had to make a move before the other two came back.

Preparing himself with a slow measured inhalation of breath he slowed his step.

"Uh, ma'am? " _Now what did that little guy call her?_ "Uh, _Keepie_."

Bingo! A warm smile touched the lovely face.

"What is it, Darien?" There was something in her soothing tone that almost jogged something… a barely suppressed memory…but it was snatched away from him as he struggled to hold onto it.

He held out his wrists and tried to look as innocent as possible. "Do you think you could take these off, just for a little while? They're kinda…chafing."

Claire was suddenly lost in the impact of those dark brown eyes as they stared longingly at her, and despite a monumental effort to maintain some degree of detachment she found herself reaching out to take his arm, slowing her own pace to match his. She carefully lifted one of the heavy metal bracelets to reveal an angry red welt beneath.

"Ouch." Darien let out a quiet hiss for added effect, as she started to run a finger gently over the inflamed section of skin.

"They do look sore," Claire admitted, giving him a sympathetic smile. "But I'm afraid you'll just have to grin and bear it for a little bit longer. I've got some ointment in my med kit and as soon as we…" her words ended abruptly as Darien suddenly stumbled. She realized her mistake the instant she put out a hand reflexively to steady him. With rapid ease he lunged forward, looping his manacled wrists over Claire's head and around her body.

Claire could feel the tension in his body as he pressed against her back, the heat of his breath brushing her cheek as his grip intensified and he pulled her in close, an anguished cry leaving her as the all- to-familiar chill began to envelop them both.

"No, Darien don't…"

At the sound of the skirmish behind Rudy spun around gun at the ready, fully expecting to break up a struggle or something, but his eyes widened in shock when he realized that the couple had completely disappeared from sight. Squinting in the few rays of early morning light able to filter through the dense foliage, he turned a slow wary circle, figuring they had to be lurking in the shadows.

"Put the gun down buddy," came the disembodied voice from somewhere ahead, or was it behind, followed by a startled female yelp just before something collided with Rudy, catching him off guard and taking him to the ground where he found himself blinking straight into Claire's shocked face just inches from his own, with her body sprawled awkwardly on top of his. Wondering how in the hell she'd gotten there.

Any thoughts Rudy might have harbored of raising his gun ended as something heavy, like a thick soled boot stomped down on his wrist, grinding painfully until his fingers involuntarily released their tenuous hold on the weapon. "That's it. Give it up," his invisible assailant prompted., then he gasped in frightened disbelief as the gun floated upwards into midair. Just seconds later a tall figure materialized above him in a shimmering haze of metallic flakes.

Darien looked troubled as he loomed over the prone couple with Rudy's gun now covering them, but he held his position until Ella Craven appeared at his side grinning triumphantly. With another smirk in Claire's direction, she held out her handcuffed wrists expectantly and then waited as Darien wrapped his hand around the bracelet and applied a coating of Quicksilver, easily snapping the metal chain like glass.

"Well done, baby," she crooned as she put a hand on the back of his head and pulled him down for a deep lingering kiss, blissfully aware that Claire had no choice but to watch the overt display of affection through horrified eyes.

As Ella released him and took the gun from his hand, Darien's gaze shifted briefly to Claire's and for a moment she caught the faintest hint of regret there before he reached down and hauled her gently to her feet.

Rudy was left to clamber up unaided and had just pushed himself unsteadily onto his knees, when Ella moved behind him and brought the butt of the gun down viciously on the back on his head with a loud crack, sending the young man back to the muddy earth in a boneless heap.

"That's one minor problem out of the way," she stated coldly, prodding the unconscious man with the sharp tip of her boot. "Hmm, now what to do while we wait for good old Bobby to get back?" Her eyes lit up as if with sudden inspiration. "I know. Let's take care of another piece of pest control." Then without shifting her gaze from Claire's, she called amiably over her shoulder. "Oh Wesley."

As soon as the man stepped apprehensively into her line of vision she turned, giving him a warm smile that he began to return with a relieved one of his own even as she raised the gun and fired, striking his thigh and shattering the bone. She waited a beat for the pain to register and his sharp cry of pain and then as he collapsed to the ground she fired again, this bullet shattering his skull.

* * *

Having left Lili behind at the rendezvous point, Bobby was already on his way back along the woodland trail as the two shots rang out, and it was unadulterated fear for his friends that pushed him to cover the remaining distance at a relentless pace. If he'd heard the gunfire from nearly half a mile away, then it was a fair bet that so had Arnaud's army of security who would by in all likelihood be converging on the location.

Now he cautiously peaked out from behind the shelter of a large tree and mumbled a curse as he saw the two bodies lying motionless in the center of the clearing. Full daylight was still another hour away, and in the still dim light it was impossible to make out their identities.

"Agent Hobbes, I know you're there," came the unmistakably mocking tone of Ella Craven, and he gave another curse as he flattened his back against the tree trunk. And as if her taunts weren't bad enough, her next words shook him to his core. "Show yourself, or I'll make Darien snap Keepie's scrawny neck."

Taking a deep calming breath, he glanced out a second time and froze at the sight of Darien with Claire once again in his embrace, the metal chain from his handcuffs pulled taut over the pale skin of her neck Bobby could tell she was terrified, but to her credit she was doing her best to put on a brave front.

There was no choice; it was as simple as that. "Okay, I'm coming," he called back as he stepped out from behind his shelter, arms held out to the side and the gun gripped loosely between the thumb and forefinger of his left hand. Ella Craven smirked as she ordered him to toss the weapon and the key to Darien's cuffs across to her, and only when he'd complied did she allow Darien to finally release his Keeper. With a relieved sigh, Claire rushed to Bobby's side.

"Did he hurt you?" he asked evenly as his arm looped protectively around her, and was rewarded by a fervent shake of her head.

"And I don't think he would have," came the whispered response, though he could tell the ordeal had unsettled her.

Once Ella had released Darien from his cuffs, she handed him Bobby's gun and jerked her head at the couple.

"Shoot them," came the abrupt order.

Darien did his best to keep the gun leveled at the pair, but his hand started shaking as he glanced at Carter's corpse a few feet away and the ever widening pool of blood seeping out of the shattered remains of the skull. Claire made a little gasping noise and edged closer to Bobby, her hand nervously finding his.

An eon seemed to pass before Darien's emphatic, "No!" cut through the eerie quiet.

Ella's stared back with a mixture of anger and irritation,. "Alright. Then I'll do it.," she snapped impatiently, but Darien moved quickly before she could even raise her gun, grabbing her arm and forcing the weapon from her fingers. Then he took a measured step backwards to stare at her defiantly. A long way from the unquestioning obedience she had come to expect.

He was doing his best to conceal the mounting anxiety he actually felt. "I…I don't know if I remember these people, but one thing I do know is that I don't want to hurt them….or anybody…," adding as an afterthought "….with the possible exception of Dr. De Wolfe."

Ella tried softening her stance and her tone "We need them gone, baby. Very soon we'll have all the money we could ever need, then it's me and you living the high life for ever more," she purred.

"But that's just the problem…_baby_." Darien took another step away from her. "I don't think I want to live the high life - at least not with someone like you. You just shot a man in cold blood and it didn't seem to bother you. And you keep saying we're partner's or something, but there's this… distance between us. Hell, I bet you can't even tell me what my favorite color is?"

She raised a perfect eyebrow, looking completely confused by his outburst.

"Purple." Darien spun around to stare at Hobbes, who was grinning broadly. "Fawkesy, your favorite color is purple."

"And your favorite food is Bobby's home made Calzone or sometimes one of those revolting bacon cheeseburger things," Claire added, giving him a reassuring smile. He liked this woman - a lot - that was one thing Darien knew without question..

The strain was evident on his face as he squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, before turning back towards Ella.

Darien gestured at them. "See, that's what I'm saying. How come if they don't know me, they know all sorts of things about me that even I don't know…or at least think I don't know." Okay, that wasn't good. Now he was confusing himself "But the one thing I _do_ know is that me and you don't …," he gestured at himself and then Ella, struggling to find the right word, "… connect."

"Well duh, that's what amnesia can do to you." She was getting pissed off now he could tell. "As Dr. De Wolfe keeps saying, you just need to give it time and …"

"It's more than that. Don't you get it?" he responded before she could finish, shaking his head furiously. " It's like when we screw…which is incredible by the way…"

"Oh gross," from Bobby, who looked as if he might actually throw up. "Way too much info there, my friend."

Darien threw a quick grin in his direction as he continued. "…but there has to be more than just the physical. Where's the emotion…the love."

"How can you doubt that I love you," she snapped, flashing a fierce warning with her eyes at both Bobby and Claire to interrupt at their peril.

"Nuh, uh, you're _obsessed_ with me - with us. Even my scrambled brain knows the difference. And you're way too bossy."

"That's cause she's like some freakin' Dominatrix," Bobby chimed in, sensing the time was right for some of his own brand of persuasion therapy. "In your heart of hearts, you know it don't feel right with Cru-Ella there, partner. But if you can't trust anything else, then trust your own instincts. And if you don't wanna come with us that's fine, we won't force you. Just get as far away from her and Arnaud as possible."

Something in the intensity of the older man's words finally triggered another memory jolt and suddenly he knew the truth, knew for certain that this man and woman really were his friends. His mind made up, he was just about to take a faltering step in their direction when a noise stopped him in his tracks.

It was a slow hand clap that got louder as the tall figured sauntered from the shadows at the edge of the clearing.

"Bravo, everyone. That was thoroughly entertaining," said Arnaud De Fehrn with a sardonic smirk.

TBC


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter 11**

"De Freak," Bobby snarled, but any thoughts he might have had of getting his hands around the Swiss Miss Mother's throat ended as soon as the armed figures appeared, quickly surrounding them.

Arnaud held something in his hand, and suddenly Darien let out a sharp agonized cry and fell to his knees, loosing his hold on the gun as his hands clutched frantically at his head.

Satisfied that their troublesome I-Man had been sufficiently incapacitated, Arnaud waited until Ella had retrieved her gun and then casually tossed her the Trigger Device. In two long strides she moved across to Darien and grabbed a handful of his hair, yanking his head back roughly so that he had no choice but to look up into her furious gaze.

"Don't you _ever _say 'no' to me again, do you understand?" Not bothering to wait for a response she activated the Trigger Device again, watching with a satisfied sneer as Darien let out another painful whimper, before his entire body went rigid and his eyeballs rolled back. When Ella finally released her grip, he slumped forward with his head touching the ground, his body trembling violently.

Only the semi-automatic jammed into his rib cage prevented and outraged Bobby from launching himself bodily at Ella Craven, that and Claire's fingers digging into his arm.

Then Darien shuddered and suddenly went very still and they both assumed he'd passed out, until a hard nudge from the tip of Ella's boot into the small of his back and a hissed _"Get up!" _had him struggling up on hands and knees and then climbing slowly upright, where he swayed unsteadily in front of her.

Arnaud moved to his cousin's side.

"Well, my dear, this seems like an opportune moment to show our Agency friends exactly _what _we've created. You know the trigger word," he urged smoothly.

Giving him a quick nod, Ella caught Darien's hand and forced his fingers around the gun, then leaning in towards him she almost breathlessly purred out the phrase that had so recently been drilled into his subconscious. "Mamma Mia."

"It's a little 'Abba in joke' between me and Fawkes," Arnaud advised amiably for Bobby and Claire's benefit. His eyes sparkling with amusement "You really needed to have been there to truly appreciate it," he added, before turning his rapt attention back to Darien, fascinated and eager to study the ultimate effects of the EPC and of his hard work over the last few weeks..

Darien reacted almost immediately to his 'trigger words', with his body straightening to its full height and the pained expression from a few moments before slipping from his face, to be replaced by an almost enigmatic mask. His gaze fixed expectantly on Ella, his center of the universe at this precise moment in time; for no-one else existed or mattered. .

"Fight it, Fawkesy," Bobby called out, though any hopes he might have harbored faded as his friend turned his head in their direction and he caught sight of those dark and fathomless eyes. "You can do it, buddy," he tried again, though a touch of apprehension had crept into his voice. Claire drew in a sharp shocked intake of breath.

"Fascinating isn't it, Claire?" Arnaud almost sighed to the one person he was certain would really appreciate his sheer brilliance. "With a little tweaking and manipulation of Fawkes' superego, I've managed to replicate all of the innumerable benefits of Quicksilver Madness - which has ultimately given me complete control of his higher cortical functions - including his actions, his inhibitions and that annoying conscience of his. Only this time there's no need of a messy counteragent to bring him under passive control. All it takes is a quick press of a button. Clever, hmm?"

Although she was enthralled on a professional level by Arnaud's relentless dialogue, Claire was finding it difficult to concentrate or draw her attention away from Darien, who was now studying her and Hobbes with an eerie detachment. Center stage and with a captive audience, Arnaud was oblivious to the fact that he didn't have her full attention as he continued to boast.

"Of course, we had to replace the original Control Device, as the nano-bug I created originally was just a prototype, meant to be used as a stop-gap until a more effective version could be implanted - like the one he has now."

This secured Claire's undivided attention and an angry flush colored her cheeks.

"You created the nano-nasty?" The question came Bobby.

Arnaud gave a derisive snort. "You didn't for one moment think that those morons at the DoD could possibly have devised something so ingenious in the time allotted, did you?" he asked, shaking his head in scornful amusement. "I gave dear Wesley the designs for the original prototype and then it was just up to him and his team of half-witted researchers to assemble and implant it. And it would all have turned out so well, if you and Fawkes hadn't derailed Ella's plan so effectively."

Ella's eyes narrowed as she glared at Bobby and Claire, and it was obvious that as far as she was concerned they were the only ones to blame for those events.

"My dear," Arnaud said smoothly, picking up on her mounting restlessness, "maybe it's time for a little show and tell for our Agency friends."

"I've been waiting a long time for this,_" _came her throaty response as she turned her attention back to Darien, trailing a long fingernail down his cheek. "Darien darling, I think it's time to kill Agent Hobbes."

A feral grin spread across his face and he caressed the barrel of the gun almost lovingly.. "My pleasure, baby," Darien acknowledged in a voice that wasn't quite his own. "Hold still Robbie, cause this one's going right between your beady little eyes." Then he raised the gun in one easy motion, pointed it straight at Hobbes…and fired.

* * *

In the moments that followed, Claire was acutely aware of Bobby's grunt of pain as he went down under the force of the bullet's impact and of her own anguished cry as she rushed to help him. But because her senses failed her on every other level, she was oblivious to Ella ordering Darien to turn the gun on his Keeper, or of him adjusting his aim without the slightest hesitation.

"Stop!" No-one present looked more surprised or shocked than Ella as Arnaud physically placed himself between Darien and Claire, his next intended target. With just the subtlest of gestures from him, Darien obediently lowered the weapon to his side and stood passively.

Ella was confused and not a little pissed off. "Let me finish it here," she pleaded with Arnaud almost in desperation. "The Agency are nothing but trouble, particularly these two."

"Normally, ma cherie, I would heartily concur," he responded, taking a quick glance to where Claire knelt at Bobby's side, attempting to staunch the flow of blood oozing from his wounded left arm.. "But I detest needless waste, and Dr. Keeply's arrival couldn't have been better timed. With Wesley's sad demise and with the imminent auction of my Quicksilver Glands, her expertise could be invaluable in helping me to correct the…uh… small imperfections.

"And having them as our guests, albeit temporarily, means that Fawkes now has an extra incentive to behave until he has completed Theo's little task, and we have the time necessary to properly conclude Phase 3 of his conditioning." Arnaud reached over to roughly pat Darien's cheek. "Isn't that right?"

* * *

"He shot me!" Bobby rasped out with a tremor in his voice, the shock and disbelief at his best friend's betrayal almost worse for him to bear than the pulsating agony in his shoulder. And he'd been repeating the same words almost as a mantra since they'd been deposited in one of the decrepit dungeons a few hours before.

There was no light, no heat and a pungent slightly offensive aroma that attacked the sinuses. All in all it was hellish. With no furnishing either, they were forced to huddle together on the dirty straw covered floor, with Bobby resting back against the jagged stone wall for support, while Claire tended to his wounded shoulder; removing his jacket and tearing away the sleeve of his black turtle-neck sweater to get a better look. The bullet had passed straight through without damaging anything vital as far as she could determine, but what concerned her the most was that fibers from his clothing had probably been driven into the wound on impact and would most certainly cause infection without proper treatment or at least an antibiotic.

Bobby flinched as she covered the wound with the folded piece of cloth - torn from his jacket - that she'd been forced to use as a makeshift bandage. It was already badly swollen and hot to the touch.

Once again she mentally cursed Arnaud and Ella Craven. Would it really have hurt them to leave her with even basic medical supplies or a blanket so that she could at least make him a little more comfortable? Bloody scumbags.

She shivered, but not entirely from the dank coldness of their environment, as she recalled Ella Craven's sneering comment when she had dumped them both down here.

The woman had stood in the doorway, staring at them both with undisguised loathing.

"Why bother trying to treat him," she'd said, indicating to a dazed Bobby. "If he's still alive when we get back, I'm going to order Darien to tear him into little bite size pieces."

Then she'd waved her gun for emphasis as she continued her taunt. "Might be kinder if you let me put him out of his misery now, what do you say, _Keepie_?"

Claire's furious response was a display of colorful language that even had Bobby chuckling despite the discomfort this caused, and Ella spinning on her heels and slamming the thick wooden door behind her with a shattering thud.

Now they sat huddled together, the only sounds a rather ominous rustling noise in the straw every so often and the constant drip, drip of water from somewhere close by. Bobby eventually brought Claire out of her daydream.

"He shot me," he whined yet again, and Claire snuggled in close trying to give him some comfort and warm his body with her own.

"I know, sweetheart," she soothed, touching a hand to his cheek. "But it could have been much worse."

Bobby could hardly believe what he was hearing and shifted so that he could stare at Claire incredulously through the gloom. "What could possibly be worse than De Freak, Cru-Ella and our very own invisible version of Mister Hyde on the loose," he almost yelped out. "Cause what we have here is a freakin' nightmare. And while we're rotting down here in the house of horrors, the three of them have gone who knows where - probably to terrorize the peasants or something."

"Don't you see, Bobby,." she urged, keen to get her message through his slightly feverish ramblings. "You told Darien to fight it and he must have heard you."

Bobby didn't look all that convinced. "He said I had beady little eyes and then he…"

"Shot you, yes I know," she cut in patiently. "But only in the arm, even though Ella Craven ordered him to kill you."

TBC


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry it's taken me sooooo long to post these remaining chapters, but personal issues and the fact that I'd written myself into a bit of a corner for a while are the main contributing factors.

I'm still not 100 happy with the final result and may take a chapter away every so often for a re-write. But it'smine, so I can. xx

**Chapter 12**

Despite the gravity of their predicament and the bleakness of their surroundings, with little else to do Claire and Bobby had dozed fitfully during their long hours of incarceration, huddled together in an attempt to fend off the clammy chill that seeped through their layers of clothing and into their bones.

Claire had no concept of just how much time elapsed before someone finally came for them, and she steeled herself for the worst as the large iron bolt on the outside of their cell door was drawn back with a scraping of rusty metal over wood. Beside her Bobby jerked awake at the noise, and she heard him curse softly as the sudden exertion cause pain to erupt in his injured shoulder.

Almost as soon as the heavy door creaked open, the glare of a torch pierced the gloom, darting across the ceiling and around the walls before settling on the bedraggled pair, instinctively trying to shield their eyes from the stabbing beam of light. There followed a low murmuring of voices and amid them one very familiar one. Eberts!

"Claire, Robert! Thank god " The relief in his voice was unmistakable. "Are you both okay?"

"We will be when you stop tryin' to freakin' blind us," Bobby grouched, squinting through his fingers for emphasis.

"Oops, oh yes, sorry," he responded sheepishly, immediately directing the light somewhere above their heads instead.

Even before his vision had cleared completely, Bobby was aware that a taller, stockier figure had entered into the cell behind Eberts, and moments later he was being pulled to his feet by a strong pair of hands.

"We'd given you both up for dead somewhere in the forest," Mikhail Tzarnov marveled.

"It was only on Albert's insistence that we came down here to search." He reached across and slapped his new friend affectionately on the back.

"Thank you, Albert," Claire planted a kiss on his cheek as he helped her up.

"How long have we been cooped up down here?" Bobby asked as they followed Tzarnov outside.

"It's been a little over six hours," the man advised soberly. "We heard the shots, but by the time we got there it was all over. We found Rudy though …" his voice trailed off regretfully.

Claire laid a hand on his arm.

"He's alive…just," Mikhail reassured, his dark eyes welcoming her show of concern.

"But we think his skull may have been fractured. Those bastards will pay for it."

"Speaking of which…" Bobby pressed, keen to get back on his partner's trail before it went cold The culmination of the pulsating pain in his shoulder and the sheer frustration of having located Darien only to lose him again, all in the matter of a few hours, weighed heavily on him.

"They're long gone." Eberts advised, casting a worried look back at his two colleagues.

* * *

Perched on the edge of an examination table in one of the Institute's remaining functional laboratories, Bobby fidgeted impatiently while Claire cleaned and treated his shoulder wound. His inability to sit still for 'five bloody minutes' had earned him several reprimands, and even a barbed threat to sedate him.

"C'mon, Keepie, hurry it up there will ya," he half-teased through gritted teeth as she firmly applied the bandage "Anyone would think you've never treated a bullet wound before."

He regretted the words the second she fixed him with a pissed off Keepie glare. "Well between you and Darien and your alarming penchant for trouble, I certainly get enough practice," she countered, pressing the last piece of tape in place with a sickly-sweet smile - and to his mind a little more pressure than was absolutely necessary. "There. All done."

Claire helped Bobby to ease back into his torn and bloodied sweater, and then thrust a couple of painkillers into one hand and a glass of water into the other. He swallowed them down without complaint, offering a 'thank you' before crossing to where Eberts was on the phone updating the Official, and Tzarnov was issuing orders to half a dozen uniformed LMI agents; part of the larger team now occupying the Institute.

Within two hours of them stumbling across the macabre scene in the forest clearing and transferring the badly injured Rudy to a doctor in the village, Tzarnov had secured permission and the manpower from his superiors to mount a full-scale raid on the castle. That they had agreed so readily was testament to the trust they placed in him and his group.

Mikhail led the first team - consisting of him, Eberts and four LMI operatives - in through the main entrance of the Institute, with Teams 2 and 3 following in their wake to be quickly deployed throughout the facility. Lili took command of Team 4, covering off the underground tunnel. The scene awaiting them all inside the castle came as a complete shock. The place was in turmoil, with sirens blaring and a thick choking smoke obscuring vision and making breathing difficult. They met no resistance from the few shocked and terrified members of staff they encountered, who were in the process of evacuating themselves and the patients.

It quickly became obvious that Arnaud De Fehrn, Ella Craven and several of the senior personnel had made good their escape in a rush, but with precision planning nonetheless, taking with them much of the evidence of their covert research. computer files had been erased and what hard evidence couldn't be carried with them had been destroyed, with several of the labs completely decimated by the incendiary devices that in turn had ignited the small fires, which were now thankfully under control. It was just so typical of De Freak, Bobby mused bitterly.

As soon as Tzarnov had finished with the LMI operatives and dismissed them, he turned to Bobby and Claire. Eberts ended his call to the Official and joined them also.

"We've questioned all of the remaining members of senior staff and we may have a lead on where they've gone." He handed Bobby a copy of the national daily newspaper, with its front page dominated by photographs of the three main contenders in the forthcoming Presidential election.

One Bobby recognized immediately as Theodore Tomaszko; the middle was of the current President of the Latovanian Republic; Yuri Danzic, a man who had unprecedented popularity with his citizens and was the favorite to win by a wide margin. The third was of the leader of the main opposition party, Boris Gregoravich.

Bobby continued to stare at the newspaper almost as if the words would miraculously morph from Latovanian to English, until Tzarnov jabbed a finger at the column of writing on the bottom of the page.

"Tonight in Grudsk our current President, Yuri Danzic, is scheduled to officiate at the opening of the new National Exhibition and Convention Center. He's also using the venue to host a reception ahead of the election in two days time. A lot of high level politicians - including some of our foreign allies and the media - are expected to attend.

"We may be a small country in comparison to your United States, but we do have strategic importance in the Balkans," he explained proudly. "Danzic, has proved himself to be a good friend to the West and, more importantly, has the respect of our close neighbors and is trusted enough to represent them in the foreign arena."

"You sound like a big fan of his," Claire said with a soft smile lighting her lovely eyes.

"I would die for him," Mikhail responded returning her smile and drawing himself up proudly. "Without Yuri Danzic it's very possible that my country would revert back to the dark days before liberation, the entire region would become unstable."

He had Bobby's full attention now, although he wasn't sure he liked where this was leading. "So, you think ole Tabasco's planning a hit on your President?"

Mikhail nodded soberly. "Yes. But he won't dirty his own hands." He stared from one to the other of them curiously now. "What I don't understand though, and what I'm absolutely certain you're not going to tell me, is what part your young friend is going to play in all of this?"


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

**Grudsk - Late afternoon**

Theodore Tomaszko, as ever accompanied by one of his hulking bodyguards, stood in the center of the lavishly furnished hotel suite and waited, not altogether patiently, for one of the present occupants to acknowledge his presence.

Although inwardly bristling at the lack of respect being shown - particularly by Arnaud De Fehrn - a small logical part of him accepted that at the moment the man had other priorities and was doing exactly what he had ordered him to do: ensure the American invisible agent, Darien Fawkes, was primed and ready for that nights work.

The young man in question was currently sprawled across the couch, with his head resting on a cushion which in turn was resting on Ella Craven's lap. Darien's eyes were half opened and staring dazedly as Arnaud none-to-gently gripped his arm and jammed a syringe into a vein. His mouth curled into a satisfied smirk at Fawkes' jerked response to the sudden stinging pain. Good. That meant the little prick was regaining his faculties following their intense EPC session. Under normal circumstances, Fawkes would be allowed to sleep off the effects, but time wasn't something they had much of at this moment, which was why a strong stimulant had been necessary.

The sole purpose of this interim session had been to implant the identity and location of the target into Fawkes' subconscious, and attempt to factor against another random act of defiance from their I-Man;, like the one back in the forest. But working with a complicated psyche like Darien Fawkes'; there were no absolute guarantees and that's what made Arnaud nervous.

"_That is_ seriously good shit," Darien slurred with a sigh and a dreamy smile as the drug coursed quickly through his system.

Arnaud withdrew and set aside the now empty syringe, applied a band aid to cover the injection point on Darien's arm and then pulled off the latex surgical gloves, tossing them onto the low coffee table. Only then did he finally turn his attention to Tomaszko

The man could sense De Fehrn's burning discontent, but with his goal so tantalizingly close he was damned if he would give him another chance to indulge his sorry reasoning as to why this entire venture at this time was such a terrible idea. Whether De Fehrn accepted it or not,. he was the one calling the shots and he was just about to tell him so in no uncertain terms, when his attention was distracted by the voice of the figure still lying prone on the couch.

"Do you think we could maybe order room service?" Darien was asking, a hopeful but still slightly spaced out grin playing on his face as he pushed himself into a sitting position and stared around at the stern-faced individuals crowded around him.

"Are you sure he's ready for this?" Tomaszko snapped, throwing a dubious glance in Darien's direction. "Because there's no margin for error." He then returned his attention to Arnaud, fixing him with a look that would have had sent lesser men scurrying for cover.

"He's as ready as he can be under the circumstances," Arnaud responded peevishly, too pissed off himself to be intimidated by a mere death glare. He was still seething from the haste in which they had been forced to evacuate the Belnickov Institute, destroying some of the valuable research in the process. There hadn't even been sufficient time to go back for the luscious Dr. Keeply, though he was absolutely certain that she and The Agency would be hot on their trail before very long. "But these conditions are hardly conducive to…"

"Cause it's been kind of a long day and we had to skip breakfast…" Darien's voice cut across, recounting the reasons that food was an absolute necessity.

"…productive programming. And I did warn you that we might encounter problems if we were forced to rush the process," Arnaud continued tightly, smarting at Tomaszko's obvious indifference and aware that it was pointless to focus on Fawkes's current instability. Besides, he seemed to be under control now - though Arnaud promised himself that once this was all over and done with, he'd fix the man's insufferable habit of badgering and whining until he got his own way.

"…and then we missed lunch…."

Arnaud rolled his eyes.

Tomaszko took another long moment to study the young man with the gift of invisibility, who was pivotal to his future. In just a few short hours, Darien Fawkes was going to be the tool to rid him rid him of Yuri Danzic in a truly spectacular fashion, and in so doing would help him to fulfill his destiny.

Enough forensic evidence would be found to point the finger of blame at the opposition leader, Boris Gregoravich. Then in the aftermath of the 'tragedy', Tomaszko would step forward as the sympathetic and uniting voice of his grieving people. With the Presidency secured and the funds from his sizeable share of Arnaud's Quicksilver auction swelling the numbers in his Swiss bank account in the very near future, he would be virtually untouchable; a new force to be reckoned with in the Balkan States and then hopefully on the World political stage..

It was such a beautiful plan.

"..all I'm saying here, is that if you guys…and gals," he threw Ella a goofy grin, "want me to do my invisible stuff…" He raised his hand and fired an imaginary pistol at Arnaud to make his point. "Well, I just think it's worth mentioning that I won't be on top form if I'm running on empty."

Arnaud let out a long suffering sigh and turned towards one of his own men, who had been hovering over on the far side of the room awaiting orders. "Oh, for god's sake, get the fool something to eat before I smother him," he snapped, choosing to ignore Darien's satisfied "W_oo-hoo"_.

**Grudsk - Late evening**

The Grudsk National Exhibition and Conference Center was an architectural masterpiece. A sprawling oval glass and steel structure, nestling on the banks of the river Tibor, and despite its modern design somehow blended perfectly into its surroundings, nestled within the still largely medieval city.

The Latovanian's were extremely proud of this new building., the first of many built with the help of foreign investment - which also included a hospital, a library and a modernization plan for the ancient University campus - to herald in their new era of freedom and development in a previously struggling economy. And tonight their President, Yuri Danzic was presiding over the official opening ceremony for the venue.

Ground level was where the main exhibition halls were situated , with meeting and conference rooms on the next level. A restaurant dominated the entire top of the structure, with the floor to ceiling glass panels giving a stunning view across the river and city, to the mountains and the forests in the distance.

Security was tight and all guests had to pass through numerous checks including metal detectors and body searches, irrespective of rank or status, before they were finally directed up to the restaurant where the slightly-built and gray-haired form of Yuri Danzic himself waited to greet them.

Now in his late-sixties, he was known to be a straightforward, no-nonsense man, who didn't see the point in elaborate acts of showmanship or grand entrances. If he were honest, he actually didn't feel that comfortable in these sort of social surroundings, but he knew it was important to his people to be seen to celebrate their successes from time to time. His aides had convinced him that it also didn't hurt to use this event for some good old-fashioned public relations, ahead of the election in two days time.

Every shake of every hand was accompanied by numerous flashes, as the moment was captured for posterity by the bank of photographers and TV crews lined up on the opposite side of the entrance to President Danzic. If the elderly man was tiring from the seemingly endless queue of guests and their incessant and often inane chatter, he didn't show it. Taking the time to smile graciously for his guests and for the cameras, his face creasing into a genuine smile and his keen blues eyes sparkling with pleasure when he came across someone he recognized, be it a foreign dignitary or a member of his own campaign staff.

From way across the room, Danzic's every move was being watched by Bobby Hobbes and Mikhail Tzarnov, looking resplendent in their tuxedos, and Claire, positioned just to the side of the press pack and dressed to kill in a dark red gown, split to the thigh to reveal a long shapely leg. Where Tzarnov had got the evening wear from in the correct sizes at such short notice was a mystery, but Bobby's regard for this man grew with every passing minute.

A soft hiss of static from his miniature earpiece was followed a moment later by Eberts reporting in. He was currently patrolling the basement and lower levels including the underground parking garage with Lili and a team of LMI agents.

"Batman to Robin. Come in Robin."

Bobby grimaced. "Robin receiving. Gimme the sit rep Ebes?" he responded irritably.

"And then explain to me again why you get to be the Caped Crusader and I'm demoted to sidekick, when I'm the senior agent here, huh? Over."

"The basement is clear. No-one down here who shouldn't be. We're now proceeding to ground level to monitor arrivals," Eberts reported in his own clipped and efficient manner, then added, "And I don't need to point out that while you might very well be the senior agent, _I_ am in charge of communications and, as such, am at liberty to select the code names for the mission. Over." Bobby could almost envisage the supercilious smirk plastering the younger man's face.

"Well, _Batfink, _you know what you can do with your…"

"BOYS!" Claire cut in sharply across their secure channel. "Can we stop with the petty squabbling. We've got an important job to do, you know."

Bobby lowered his eyes in shame under her reprimanding scowl from way across the restaurant, and Eberts came back quickly with an apology.

"Good! Now that we've all kissed and made up, let's just find Darien shall we?" Her lovely eyes suddenly sparkled with mischief. "Wonder Woman over and out."

* * *

A burst of activity accompanied by the fevered shouts and frenzied camera flashes from the assembled press pack heralded the arrival of Theodore Tomaszko and his entourage, his entrance timed to perfection to ensure the attention was entirely focused on him. He posed for the paparazzi and gave sound bites to the TV crews, before sweeping into the restaurant and making a huge show of greeting President Danzic and the other VIPs.

Claire hitched a breath when she caught sight of who was part of Tomaszko's large group, moving further into the venue and concealing herself behind a steel column before contacting Bobby and Eberts.

"I've already seen him," came Bobby's controlled response as he scowled darkly across from his own vantage point at Arnaud De Fehrn, who was currently sipping from a glass of champagne and looking like he didn't have a care in the world.

Bobby bit down a growl. "Any sign of Darien or Cru-Ella?" he asked.

"Nothing as yet." Concern and disappointment evident in Claire's tone.

Eberts response was also a firm negative.

Indicating to Mikhail with a hand gesture that he was going to circulate Bobby moved off, talking once again to his Agency colleagues over their secure link.

"Well I'd bet a years salary and Golda that they're here somewhere. I can feel it in my bones."

* * *

An hour or so later with the official opening ceremony and the obligatory speeches over and done with, the atmosphere in the restaurant was relaxed and convivial, with guests mingling happily in groups or in couples, while consuming champagne by the magnum and feasting on the rich canapés served from silver trays by the white uniformed waiting staff.

Bobby was making his way back to the main restaurant after a fairly urgent trip to the bathroom, when Claire made contact to advise him that Theodore Tomaszko was on the move. In the short time it took him to maneuver his way through the still densely crowded venue to get back to her , the Latovanian would-be politician and his entourage had already gone.

Cursing under his breath and trying to control his mounting agitation, Bobby asked.. "Do we know if De Freak went with him?"

Claire shook her head and shrugged. "Sorry Bobby, it happened so fast I really didn't get the chance to check."

Eberts voice came through. He was still positioned in the main entrance monitoring guest arrivals and departures. "Theodore Tomazko has just got into his car and left. There's no sign of Dr. De Fehrn."

Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "I've got a very bad feeling about this!"

The plan was working perfectly. Arnaud De Fehrn had used the fuss surrounding Tomaszko's departure as a means to peel off from the main group as they headed to the elevators. Doubling back he ducked in through a non-descript doorway to the left of the bar which he knew from the plans he'd studied so meticulously led to a large storeroom.

He also instinctively knew that his movements had gone undetected by the ever irritating

Agent Hobbes and the always breathtaking Dr. Keeply, who had spent almost their entire evening watching him. But while they were watching him, he'd found it very amusing to watch them right back, even raising his champagne glass in their direction at one point in a silent toast - a talent for lip reading was non essential to catch the gist of Hobbes' openly hostile response Knowing that they didn't dare lay a hand on him while he was in such esteemed company added to the fun; even the Agency's Latovanian security buddies couldn't touch him tonight, not without causing a major diplomatic incident in front of the worlds media.

Fumbling around in the darkness until he found the light switch he squinted into the shadowed area at the rear of the storeroom, noting straight away that a carton lay open and several empty and discarded bags of potato chips were strewn across the floor.

"Fawkes, are you in here?" he whispered sharply.

His answer came when something icy cold tickled the back of his neck.

_Merde!_

"We really don't have time for your juvenile antics," he hissed a warning to his invisible tormentor. "In case you haven't noticed, time is of the essence."

"Spoilsport." Darien's grinning form materialized to the side of him. Popping another potato chip into his mouth, he screwed up the empty bag and tossed it onto the floor with the others. . "And speaking of time. You took plenty of it getting here."

Choosing to ignore the thinly barbed slight, Arnaud snapped his fingers and held out his hand impatiently and a moment later a gun was pressed into his palm. Darien also quickly checked the clip in his own gun before tucking it back into the waistband in the small of his back.

"The device?" Arnaud asked brusquely.

"All primed and ready to go _kaboom_ at your command , oh beloved leader," came the mock serious response.. Glancing at his wristwatch he added, "I'll activate the timer as soon as we're ready to get the hell out of here. That should give us plenty of time to make it down to the basement and get in position before the real fun begins."

Setting his own wristwatch, Arnaud nodded his approval. Fawkes' irreverent and casual attitude might at times be a monumental pain in the ass, but there was no denying that the Agency had achieved the near impossible and turned him into an effective operative over the past couple of years, even if that fact had now been conveniently blotted from his memory.

"Okay. Let's proceed."

Darien responded with a quick affirmative nod of his head, then moved to the back of the storeroom and squatted down to activate the small explosive device he'd placed in among a pile of cartons; hoping they would be sufficient to contain the force of the small controlled explosion. The aim wasn't to maim or injure the party guests, just to cause some good old-fashioned mayhem and then mass evacuation. With the timer activated, he pulled himself to his full height and then triggered the Quicksilver flow to coat his own body and then Arnaud's completely.

None of the guests noticed the door of the inconspicuous storeroom opening and closing, and were totally oblivious to the two tall invisible figures that exited in a hurry and raced for the main staircase down to the lower levels.

* * *

The explosion when it came though not colossal, was powerful enough to blow out the flimsy door of the storeroom and send it hurtling through the air for several feet, and to rattle the large windows running along both sides of the restaurant. Two of the glass shelves behind the bar shattered, sending bottles and glasses crashing to the floor and smoke immediately billowed out of the storeroom, followed by small flames that fanned the now gaping doorway.

A brief moment of shocked inertia from the stunned guests, transformed into utter pandemonium as soon as the alarm bells sounded and the sprinklers triggered.

Bobby pushed himself to his knees and stared around in alarm. In their frantic search for Arnaud, he and Claire had separated and he'd been midway across the restaurant heading towards the bar area when all hell had broken loose. A large group standing just ahead of him had instinctively ducked and scattered as the device exploded and the door blew out, and Bobby was knocked to the floor in their frantic scramble to get clear.

Now amid the chaos and the terrified screams and cries that reverberated around the place, he sensed what was coming next. Mere seconds later, his fears were realized as mass hysteria kicked in and the guests surged towards the exits.

Over the noise, he could hear Claire's voice calling to him through his earpiece.

"Oh, thank God," was her relieved response when he finally managed to cough out an answer.

"Keepie, where are you now?" he asked, jumping aside just in time to avoid being trampled by another surging tidal wave of bodies.

"I'm with Mikhail. We've just started down the stairs behind the kitchen."

In their earlier briefing it had been agreed that in the event of any trouble, the exit to the rear of the restaurant kitchen was the best of three approved escape routes plotted for Danzic. They led all the way down through the exhibition center to the lower levels and to the underground parking garage where the Presidential convoy of vehicles would be ready and waiting.

Bobby cursed. Though pleased that Claire had managed to keep her wits about her and follow procedure, he was all too aware that for the moment he was cut off from the retreating group. Moving as fast as he could against the still panicking mass of bodies, he pushed his way through and headed for the swing doors leading to the kitchens, hailing Eberts as he moved. The younger man came through loud and clear almost immediately.

"Okay , _Batman_. You're the closest, so looks like it might be you against the bad guys until I can get my ass down there. Ebes, you up to this? Cause if you're…"

"Uh, oh yes, Robert," came the hesitant acknowledgement. And then in a voice filled with sudden gritty determination. "You can count on me"

* * *

Placing the second, larger, bomb on the underside of President Danzic's armor-plated limousine had been a piece of cake for Darien. And knowing that the six heavily armed guards panned out around the vehicle were oblivious to his presence - even as he worked with practiced ease right under their noses - only added to the overall buzz of excitement.

The job done, he returned as ordered to the dark vehicle sitting inconspicuously at the end of a row on the far side of the cavernous underground garage, conveniently close to an exit ramp - engine idling softly. From that position, they had an unobstructed view of the rear stairwell where President Danzic and his entourage would emerge any second now and of the official convoy of cars, ready to carry their leader to safety - or so they thought.

"So, you wanna tell me again why we're hitting this guy…Danzic…here and now?" Darien asked, sitting forward in his seat and peering curiously between Arnaud and Ella.

Arnaud let out an exasperate sigh. In the interminable period as they waited, Darien's nagging doubts had started to return. In the drivers seat beside him, Ella Craven kept her face schooled into a neutral expression while studying the handsome object of her obsession in the rear view mirror.

"Now is _not_ the time, Fawkes," De Fehrn hissed condescendingly, furious beyond belief that the EPC conditioning was prone to degenerate so rapidly, resulting in these random moments of unrest. When this was over and they could extract themselves from Tzarnov's control, his first priority would be to fix it - permanently. "You are just the tool and you'd do well to remember that. And also remember it's not your place to question every single goddamned order."

"Hey, fine with me," was the tetchy response. Darien gave Arnaud a sullen 'look' then leaned back in his seat and folded his arms defensively.

A long stretch of silence followed during which Arnaud congratulated himself on exerting some authority and putting the aggravating little prick in his place…and then...

"All I'm saying is, wouldn't it have been better to wait and make the hit somewhere less…confined?"

Arnaud growled a warning and with her nerves already stretched to breaking, Ella had to fight back the urge to scream or give the love of her life a well-deserved blast from the Control Device. Instead she half turned to face him and placed a hand on his cheek, speaking to him as though an adult to a truculent 5-year-old..

"We've been through this a hundred times, baby." To her credit, her voice betrayed nothing of her real ire. "There may never be a better chance to get past his security."

"Well, _that's_ hardly a problem for…" he began, only to be quieted by her fingers pressing against his lips.

"Ours is not to reason why, " she countered. "We can't afford to let that devil win the election." In order to make her point she softened her tone and her features, before playing the ace card. "Think of all the women and children who have died since Danzic came to power, Darien. He has the blood of innocents on his hands, but _we_ have the power to stop him."

Arnaud's mouth twitched convulsively as he fought to conceal his amusement, at the same time feeling a burst of admiration for his cousin's power of manipulation. _Damn, she_ _was good._

Darien lowered his head briefly, his fragile conscience fighting to accept the version of Danzic's 'tainted Presidency' that had so recently been programmed into his psyche by Arnaud. Slowly, almost reluctantly, he gave a slight nod of acceptance as his gaze rose furtively to meet Ella's once again.

"Good boy," Ella caressed his face, before her attention was diverted by the flurry of activity over by the presidential vehicles.

"It's time," Arnaud stated curtly, raising the compact detonator which had been pre-set to activate the bomb. Now all they had to do was wait until the target was in range

His finger hovered over the button in readiness...

* * *

With gun grasped firmly in one hand and compulsively wiping the clammy palm of his other up and down his trouser leg, Eberts edged his way around the vast parking garage with Lili following close on his heels. Despite the fact that her senses were focused on a possible confrontation with President Danzic's would-be-assassins she still wondered why, when they were two levels below ground, Albert had felt the need to don dark shades the moment they had descended from the stairwell.

No doubt about it; these particular American agents were definitely strange…endearing… but strange.

As President Danzic and his entourage emerged from the stairwell - with Mikhail Tzarnov leading the way and Claire just visible to the rear of the group - Eberts was methodically scanning his surrounding via his infra-red glasses when a slight movement caught his eye and drew his attention to a vehicle parked two rows over. Motioning for Lili to follow, he hunched low and set off in that direction to check it out. As they drew closer, Eberts cautiously peeked from behind the relative safety of one of the concrete support columns lining the entire perimeter of the garage and as he did the figure sitting in the front passenger seat of the car shifted forward and for a second Arnaud's sharp, aristocratic profile was partially visible as it emerged from the shadows.

Eberts hitched in a breath, darted back behind the column and contacted Hobbes.

* * *

When Bobby Hobbes burst through the heavy door from the stairwell just minutes behind the Presidential group, he knew exactly what was about to happen. Eberts' slightly breathy report on his sighting of Arnaud had confirmed the worst. Though he and Tzarnov had debated various scenarios, this one had seemed the most risky and unlikely of them all, but now he knew beyond doubt that if they allowed Danzic to reach his car he was a dead man.

Knowing he himself couldn't get to the Latovanian leader in time, Hobbes started yelling at the top of his voice until several of the LMI team glanced back in the direction of the commotion.

"_Get down. Everyone get the fuck down_!"

Tzarnov reacted instinctively and immediately to the American agents shouted warning and frantic arm waving. Moving at speed, he grabbed the President around the waist just as he was about to be pushed into the rear of his limousine, and lifted him bodily from the protective cocoon of his bodyguards. Half-carrying, half-dragging the bewildered man, he pushed him flat on the ground behind a long row of cars and then shielded his body with his own.

Two of the bodyguards rushed to join them, while others in the group ducked down or ran for cover.

Then they waited…

* * *

Arnaud let loose some colorful Swiss-French expletives as soon as Hobbes came crashing through the door.

Knowing now that they couldn't afford to wait until Danzic was in his vehicle, Arnaud pressed down firmly and decisively on the button to detonate the bomb, knowing that the resulting explosion should be powerful enough to kill or severely maim anyone within the immediate vicinity.

Nothing happened!

"Merde!"

He jabbed at the button frantically before turning accusing eyes to Darien, who was watching with thinly veiled amusement from his back seat.

"Idiot," he snarled. "This is your fault. What have you done?"

"Hey, don't look at me. I was just the freakin' _tool_, remember," came the slightly smuge response.

Ella laid a firm hand on Arnaud's forearm as she was a little unsettled by the tension radiating from her cousin.. "If you're going to blame anyone, then blame Tomaszko and his shitty sub-standard equipment. Arnaud, let's just get the hell out of here while we still can, eh?"

But Arnaud was shaking his head adamantly . "No! We…Fawkes… needs to see this through. If I go back on the deal with Theo, we'll never be free of the bastard." If his attitude surprised her, then his next actions were a total shock. To her complete astonishment he opened his door and climbed out of the car , impatiently gesturing for Darien to do the same

"To hell with finesse," Arnaud hissed as he gave Darien a single sharp jolt from the Control Device, then grabbed a handful of his collar to bring them practically face to face with the young man as he swayed unsteadily on his feet. He leaned in and whispered the trigger word and Darien's reaction was instantaneous; his body straightening and his attention focused on Arnaud De Fehrn, who snapped abruptly. "Now go and finish the job properly."

With just a nod to acknowledge his orders, Darien pulled the gun from his waistband, checked the clip, and then with a remote grin muttered, "It's showtime!" as he triggered the gland.

"No wait," Ella cried as Darien disappeared beneath his QS shroud, then turned her shocked outrage on her cousin as he also started to move off. "Where the hell are _you _going?"

Forcing his version of a reassuring smile onto his face he turned back to her, but his expression did little to soothe her mounting suspicion and anxiety. "I'll double round behind," he indicated vaguely in the general direction of Danzic et al. "…and lay down some covering fire. Don't worry about me, just grab Fawkes when you can and get clear. I'll find you both later. Now GO, " was his final abrupt command before he faded into the dark outer recesses of the car park.

With no time to really question Arnaud's bizarre actions, Ella grabbed the wheel and floored the accelerator. At the very least she was determined to keep Darien out of the clutches of his former colleagues. After that they would just have to improvise, because there was no way she was going anywhere without him.

* * *

"Oh, no…Darien," Eberts muttered sadly and Lili followed his gaze - or where she thought he was staring, though it was difficult to tell with his eyes obscured from her view. Apart from the endless row upon row of parked cars awaiting their owners return, she saw nothing out of the ordinary or unusual. Her attention focused back to the clearly agitated young man as he spoke into his mic. "Batman to Rob…oh crap. Robert, Darien's on the move and headed towards you."

Hobbes responded almost immediately. "Do what you have to do Ebes," came the breathless order. "Try to distract him…anything…but we gotta keep him away from Danzic. Tzarnov and his team will shoot to kill if it means protecting their President. "

"Affirmative, Robert."

Eberts watched through anxious eyes as the invisible Darien suddenly dodged to one side and ducked down behind a large van Making a spur of the moment decision and with a vague gesture to Lili to remain where she was, he zeroed in on Darien's position at a crouching run.

As the long, tense moments ticked by and nothing happened - no violent explosion or barrage of gun shots - the Presidential retinue began to emerge from their temporary shelters, slowly and hesitantly at first, taking their cue from Tzarnov who was now up and assisting Yuri Danzic to his feet. And in that moment Darien finally broke cover, sprinting the remaining distance that separated him from his prey and raising his gun in readiness to fire.

Afterwards, no one was able to completely recount the precise sequence of events. Those closest to the action would recall the unmistakable revving of an engine from somewhere over on the far side of the garage and then the loud squeal of rubber on asphalt, the pounding of feet on the hard surface and voices raised in panic and anger.

Eberts wasn't that far behind Darien, emerging from between a row of vehicles and running flat out and breathing heavily as he gave everything he had to catch up with the longer and steadier strides of his still shrouded colleague. With mere seconds to spare before Darien reached his target, Eberts took his chance and with a surge of adrenaline and an almost primeval roar lunged at the taller man and brought him down over the hood of the Presidential limousine with an impressive flying tackle.

Still only halfway to his feet, President Danzic froze as he and his entourage turned as one, shocked at the sight of the lone man who had seemingly thrown himself bodily across the hood of the car and was now thrashing around wildly, rolling back and forth in front of them - possibly in the throws of some sort of seizure!

A disembodied voice raised in irritation was coming from somewhere close by.

"Get offa me you little bastard," Darien growled, as he struggled beneath the stockier bulk of the vaguely familiar geeky guy who'd jumped him and was now trying to pin him down. He bucked his body wildly in an attempt to get free and finally, with a violent jerk, he managed to throw off his assailant and propel him off with arms flapping wildly as he tried to break the momentum of his backward plummet.

While the group were still so obviously mesmerized by Eberts' weird antics, Darien used the distraction to his advantage. With no clear shot at President Danzic from his current position he sprinted a couple of steps, vaulted easily onto the roof of an adjacent car and from there launched himself at the man.

In the instant before he crashed bodily into the small man and his guards, Darien thought he heard someone shout his name. But then he was enmeshed in a tangle of bodies as they all went down to the ground heavily.

Shouting and panic. Lots of it. And then a collective gasp went up from those close enough to witness Darien's form suddenly shimmering into view from amid the struggling tangle of bodies. Using the shock factor that his sudden re-appearance caused to his advantage, Darien savagely head butted the man closest to him and then pistol whipped the other. Then he grabbed President Danzic by the collar and jammed the muzzle of his weapon spitefully into his temple.

"Back off," he spat viciously as the armed LMI agents and Presidential bodyguards quickly panned out around the two still kneeling men, rushing to block any attempted escape route. Every single weapon was at that moment leveled at Darien, who was breathing heavily from his frenetic exertions. .

"Give it up, Fawkesy." Bobby Hobbes shoved his way through the human barrier to confront his partner, careful to keep the muzzle of his own gun deliberately down at his side

Just to his left, Mikhail Tzarnov was groggily pulling himself upright, with blood oozing from between the fingers covering his broken nose. From all around him, Bobby was aware of whispers and vague signaling, and he knew he had to work fast if he wanted to avoid one of the trigger-hungry Latovanian agents from taking a pot shot at his partner in the hope of becoming an instant hero. If it came down to worst case scenario and someone had to take him out to save Yuri Danzic, then he would be the one to do it. Clean and fast.

"Well, well, Robbie. Fancy meeting you here." Darien flashed a cocky grin in Hobbes' direction, .though part of him was struggling to remember _exactly why _he was supposed to distrust this man. "How's the arm?" he asked amiably.

Bobby flexed his injured shoulder and grimaced. "Could've been worse, I guess,." he responded with a wry smile of his own. When he spoke again he kept the tone of his voice deliberately low and even to calm the younger man.. "Put down the gun Fawkesy and release President Danzic. Then me and you can walk right on out of here and go home."

He ignored Tzarnov's low snort of disapproval at that promise.

"Nope. Sorry," Darien was shaking his head almost regretfully as he looped his left arm around Danzic's neck, pulling the smaller body flush with his own. He took a quick glance around to check out the entire group. ""I got my orders and I've gotta do this, it's for the best. So you'd better tell your buddies to back off."

Bobby shrugged sadly. "They've got their orders too, my friend. And I gotta tell ya that there ain't a single hope in hell of you getting out of here alive if you harm their President."

Darien glanced down at the man in question, who had somehow managed to twist himself slightly and turn his head so that he could stare back at his assailant with a steady, unwavering gaze. If the eyes truly were the window to a person's soul, then this man certainly didn't have the look of the cold-blooded dictator who had supposedly slaughtered thousands of his fellow countryman. Danzic obviously came to the same conclusion about Darien at the same moment..

"You're not a killer, young man," he murmured softly, still commanding Darien's gaze until eventually he was forced to close his eyes and shake his head to break the spell.

Darien strengthened his grip on the small body and took another look about him, feeling unsettled now. He licked his lips nervously and then pushed himself to his feet, tugging Danzic up with him

Where was Ella?

His answer came from somewhere ahead of him when a car skidded to a halt with an ear-piercing screech,. followed a moment later by the thunderous blast of a gunshot as it echoed loudly within the cavernous underground space.

"Bring the fucker and get in," Ella shouted almost hysterically as the group parted and scattered, giving Darien an unobstructed view and route to the woman now standing expectantly by the wide open door of the car, her gun raised and aiming steadily at Danzic. "Anyone moves, and I'll put a bullet in him myself," she warned.

Darien immediately urged the man forward using his bodyweight, but was then stopped in his tracks as another familiar voice rocked his unstable subconscious.

"Don't do this, Darien," came the soft plea. "Don't let them put innocent blood on your hands."

Claire - his supposed Keeper - now stood alongside Bobby Hobbes, and as Darien's gaze traveled from her back to Ella and then down again at the man still firmly caught in his grasp, those tiny pangs of doubt returned with a vengeance and began an all-out battle, as his conscience and intrinsic decency warred with his EPC programming.

Confused and panicked, he backed them up some more towards the waiting vehicle, Ella urging him on all the while with a triumphant sneer plastered across her face. The atmosphere was charged and heavy with a mix of fear and frustration. No one dared move as to do so would undoubtedly put President Danzic at risk.

All they had to do now was get Danzic into the vehicle and they were practically home free, but Ella's euphoria was short lived. Darien paused, took another two or three backward steps, then suddenly slackened his grip on the man and pushed him firmly aside.

"What are you doing?" Ella hissed incredulously, as Darien turned slowly to face her.

With a rueful smile he shrugged and then tossed his gun to the ground, before raising his hands and lacing his fingers behind his head in the universal sign of surrender for the benefit of the armed group at his back.

"They're right. I can't do this,." came his resigned, almost weary response. "It's over."

"Like hell it is," she spat venomously, raising her gun and pointing it at President Danzic, but Darien already anticipating this sidestepped directly into her line of fire, an ironic smile plastering his face.

Staring at him incredulously and ignoring the many weapons now leveled at her, Ella calmly and deliberately moved the muzzle of her gun until it was placed in the center of Darien's forehead.

"Shit," Bobby muttered. By his side he felt Claire tense and heard Eberts hitch in a breath.

Now that his President was safe, Tzarnov was willing to take guidance from his American counterparts and let this play out their way…for the moment at least. He caught Hobbes' curse and the almost imperceptible shake of his head and instantly signaled to his agents to hold their fire.

"It's over when I say it's over, do you hear me.," Ella spat furiously at Darien, gauging metal against flesh until he flinched to make her point. "So get your ass in the car now." Her vengeful gaze drifted over to Hobbes and Claire. "And if you don't believe I'm willing to put a bullet between his pretty puppy eyes to stop you taking him away from me again, then just try me."

With a resigned sigh, Darien took those last few steps to the open door of the car, with Ella angling her body slightly so that he could squeeze past As he bowed his head and leaned down to climb in on the drivers side he froze, suddenly, his entire body tensing then he began to tremble and in the next instant his legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed to his knees, frantically clutching at his head. A long anguished whimper left him as he battled the now familiar pulsating agony from deep within his skull.

As cold realization struck, Ella screamed out and outraged "NO!" and reached out to vainly grab at him, but any further hope of dragging Darien into the car was cut off by a a single gun shot which ripped her weapon painfully from her grasp. She raised hate-filled eyes to stare at Hobbes, his gun steady and aimed squarely at her just daring her to touch his partner, and she knew she simply had no choice. With an hysterical, wounded scream Ella jumped into the vehicle, stepped on the gas and with a squeal of burning rubber sped towards the exit ramp.

Both Hobbes and Mikhail Tzarnov raced out together, aiming their weapons and firing round after round into the rear of the rapidly retreating vehicle. For a heart stopping moment it looked as if somehow, ludicrously, they had missed their target, but just before it reached the ramp the car swerved, veered wildly to the left and collided force into several vehicles. It skidded on for a short distance more and then smashed head on into a concrete column An eerie almost surreal silence followed before a flame shot out from within the mangled and buckled wreckage. A moment later the car exploded violently in a ball of fire.

For the longest time Bobby just stared at the inferno, reeling back from the intense heat even from this distance He tried to summon some feeling of sympathy…or anything… for the violent and abrupt end of the woman known as Ella Craven. But in the end he really had nothing to give. He was just glad that Darien was free of her…finally.

He exchanged a brief nod with Mikhail Tzarnov, holstered his gun and walked back to join his friends.

* * *

Arnaud De Fehrn ducked back through one of the many fire doors and took the stairs to ground level two at a time, whistling contentedly as he twirled Darien's Trigger Device around on his finger. Some part of him mourned the sad demise of his cousin - such a beautiful loyal creature - but when it became clear that their mission was going to fail, hard choices needed to be made. Ella was an easy sacrifice if it meant that Darien Fawkes and his Gland was still alive and kicking and available for some possible future 'show and tell' activity.

No one stopped him as he made it to ground level, melting effortlessly into the throng of emergency vehicles and onlookers surrounding the area.


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter 14**

In a small secluded airfield just edging the border with Romania, Theodore Tomazko boarded his private Lear jet in the dead of night. Some of his most treasured possessions had been left behind in his vast country estate in his haste to get out of the country before he was implicated in the attempted assassination of President Yuri Danzic. It was really just a matter of time before they came for him, and no amount of deal-making by his fancy lawyers or advisors would be able to save him, so he had taken the decision to run while he still could.

The expensive leather briefcase he carried with him contained all he would ever need to survive; the complicated codes to access his Swiss bank account and details of his other off-shore investments, along with discs containing some of Arnaud De Fehrn's virtually priceless Quicksilver Gland research - including a complete medical and personal profile of Darien Fawkes. At the very least he knew he could use these to negotiate some form of political asylum with a foreign government. The Chinese were among the many who had already expressed keen interest.

Almost without thinking he handed the briefcase over to Frederick, his most loyal and trusted subordinate, and settled back as he strapped himself into one of the luxurious leather seats, not really paying that much attention as the man moved back through the cabin towards the cockpit.

"I'll stow this for you and then check our estimated take off time, sir," Frederick called back over his shoulder, and Tomazko gave him an almost disinterested grunt in return. He was too depressed and exhausted to really pay that much attention. The sooner they were airborne and away from this godforsaken place, the better. He felt no sense of patriotism or allegiance to Latovania or her people. They could all go to hell and back as far as he was concerned.

Lost in his own self-absorbed musing, it took some time for Tomaszko to realize that all around him was strangely quiet. The twin jet engines were still idling in readiness for take-off and the outer door was firmly closed, but Frederick hadn't returned and was nowhere to be seen.

Tomaszko barked out the man's name several times, but when no response was forthcoming, he loosened his seat belt and with a bad tempered hiss made his way to the cockpit and pushed open the door, fully expecting to find Frederick seated with the pilot.

Instead it was empty.

"Frederick!" he shouted again as he rushed back into the cabin. Where was the stupid idiot? He pulled at the handle on the outer door but it was wedged firmly in place and even though he applied as much force as possible, it wouldn't budge. Something drew him to one of the small windows on the port side, and that was when unadulterated terror really struck. A figure that could only be Frederick was barely visible moving away from the jet and swinging the briefcase to match his casual stride. Another figure - this one a female - stood some distance away Tomaszko beat his fists in desperation against the reinforced glass until they bled.

Only when 'Frederick' was a safe distance away did he turn and as he did the plane - with Theodore Tomaszko on board - exploded into a thousand pieces. The initial explosion was heard by villagers some distance away, who thought it was a roll of thunder.

Mikhail Tzarnov handed the briefcase to Lili so that he could use both hands to peel off the strange latex mask provided by his American Agency counterparts. They both stared at Tomaszko's funeral pyre dispassionately.

The media would report that Theodore Tomazko's death as just another tragic air accident.

* * *

The young customs officer was weary. It had been a long, boring day and he was now just counting the minutes to the end of his shift and relishing the prospect of a hot meal and, perhaps, some time with his hot new girlfriend.

He gave the official papers what he considered to be a thorough check, though not really understanding or caring for the complex medical jargon, before glancing up at the doctor standing in front of his desk.

"It says you're carrying human organs for transplant, is that correct… Dr. De Franks?" he asked superciliously, earning himself a slight nod from the doctor and a glint of amusement in the keen eyes staring out from the disguise of the elderly medic.

"That is quite correct," De Franks responded courteously with his clipped accent - French his passport advised. "I am more than happy to show you…" and with that he lifted the large sealed medical container and placed it on the desk. On the side printed in glaring red letters it read: _Human Organs for Transplant._

"No," the officer gulped audibly., turning slightly green at the prospect of having to actually inspect any of the gory contents. "That's okay, sir. No reason to open the box. We wouldn't want them to spoil…or anything…" he gulped.

He quickly brought his stamp down with a resounding thump on to the doctor's documents and passed them back.

"Have a good journey, sir."

"Oh, I fully intend to," Arnaud De Fehrn responded emphatically, nodding curtly to the officer as he returned the beautifully forged documents to the inside pocket of his jacket.

Then with a confident grin, he retrieved the container concealing his life's work beneath a fake top layer of pig hearts - just in case anyone had actually taken him up on his offer to check the contents - then strolled through the airport terminal and out into the bright Canadian sunshine.


	15. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

_C'mon Fawkes. Raise your hand, put the freakin' key in the freakin' lock and turn. How difficult can it be?_

Darien stood rigid. Frozen to the spot right outside his apartment, with the jagged metal edge of his keys cutting into his tightly clenched palm, wondering why the simple act of unlocking his own front door should be so unnerving,

What the hell was the matter with him? Wasn't this exactly what he'd been craving for the longest time? After weeks of nothing but the stark clinical surroundings of Fort Leavitt and then the claustrophobic confines of The Keep during his 'de-programming', they were finally cutting him loose. So surely he should have been euphoric, not a quivering mess.

Of course, the Official had voiced his concerns in his own inimitable way on whether Darien was ready for this next stage in his recovery, but had finally buckled under Claire's argument that allowing him his freedom would help to restore some of those still more elusive memories.

Only Bobby's staunch presence right behind him and the reassuring but firm hand resting in the small of his back, stopped him from bolting. Finally, with a deep breath Darien raised trembling fingers, inserted the key into the lock and turned, pushing the door slowly inwards, to be greeted to his intense relief and surprise by the beaming faces of Claire, Alex and Eberts - waiting for him just the other side: A gentle nudge from Bobby pushed him over the threshold and Claire's gentle grip on his hand pulled him the rest of the way in. And then he was home…finally.

**Some time later…**

"Goodnight Darien," Claire whispered affectionately, as she leaned down to plant a soft kiss on the lips of her Kept, then chastised herself as he stirred and began to rouse from his contented slumber.

She hadn't intended to wake him, but temptation - possibly fuelled by the copious amount of red wine she'd consumed during the evening - had got the better of her. He just looked so….scrumptious…laying there like that; all curled up and disheveled.

As if savoring her sweet taste, Darien ran a tongue over his lips and then stretched his long lean frame, cracking open one eye at a time "Wha' time izzit?" he mumbled as he scrubbed his palms over his face.

"Just gone midnight, my friend," Bobby answered as he appeared at Claire's side, giving his partner an amused grin. Alex Monroe soon joined them, pulling on a jacket over her tight-fitting tee shirt..

Darien groaned with embarrassment. Some host he was! He must have dozed off literally as soon as he'd settled back into the squishy comfort of his couch. The amiable banter and laughter from his friends as they feasted on the take-out pizza, coronas and red wine - courtesy of Bobby - the light soothing drone of music and a sense of all-round well being, had obviously worked its magic and lulled his senses.

"Great party, Fawkes," Alex added with a quirk of one well-defined eyebrow, pressing her lips to his cheek.

"Yeah, shame he missed most if it," Bobby teased. "Ebes left a half hour ago, and I'm just about to escort our two young lovelies to their homes so that they can catch up on their beauty sleep, not that they need much…if any," he countered quickly with a disarming smile.

"Oh, some of us definitely need more than others these days," Claire advised through a partially-stifled yawn. Then to Darien, in an instant reverting to Keeper mode. "Make sure you get a good night's sleep…preferably in your bed. That couch is no good for your back," she added firmly.

At his mumbled "Yes, ma'am," Claire flashed a fond smile, before turning on her heels to head out of the apartment arm in arm with Alex. A sudden sense of dread washed over Darien as he watched the two women leave and he shivered.

"You gonna be okay, buddy?" Bobby asked, picking up instantly on his friend's unease. He had deliberately held back for a moment, reluctant to go until Darien was properly settled. Part of him wanted to offer to stay the night, but he knew that option wouldn't be doing the younger man any favors. If Fawkes wanted to maintain his independence, then the sooner he got back into the old routine the better, particularly as the Fat Man was looking for just about any old excuse to move his I-Man into Agency controlled accommodation, or to put the hated protection team back in place.

One look up into Bobby's concerned face and Darien summoned one of his best tough-punk masks, unwilling to admit his nervousness.

"I'm good," he assured brightly, if a bit too quickly. "I'm gonna get me a long hot shower and then hit the sack, just like Keepie ordered."

Bobby studied the younger man for a moment, not entirely comfortable to be leaving him. "Okay," he said after a minute or two of measured silence. "But you need me, at any time day or night, you call and I'm straight back here…faster than a speeding bullet. Got it, stretch?"

"Got it…Robbie," Darien confirmed with a genuinely grateful grin.

"Good." Bobby gave an amused chuckle as he left, raising a hand to wave goodnight as he closed the door firmly behind him.

Finally alone in his apartment - completely alone for the first time in many months -

Darien mentally berated himself for his pathetic fears, particularly when all he'd wanted for the longest time was to have his 'own space' again. He took the time to wander around, familiarizing himself with his old possessions. They felt like they were his, but not quite his, if that made sense. Running his fingers along the pool table, picking up photographs of him and his brother Kevin when they were little kids, smiling at the one of him and Bobby on a fishing trip when they'd obviously been goofing around. The memories were all there, but some of the finer details were still missing. Given time and a little more work, Claire had assured him that it would all slip back into place.

Thankfully, Arnaud De Fehrn had never had the time or opportunity to complete the EPC programming, otherwise Darien's stolen memories might have been lost forever.

Darien stretched wearily again. It was time for that shower, and then maybe he'd relax in front of the TV with a cold beer and catch an old movie on cable.

The shower worked its magic, so by the time Darien emerged naked from his steaming bathroom about a half hour later still toweling himself dry, he was feeling and looking more like his old self. Humming contentedly, he started towards his refrigerator for that beer when a cold draft from the doorway - the open doorway - stopped him dead in his tracks. After a minute or two of trying to quelll the mounting panic, he managed to calm himself, finally, by reasoning that Bobby obviously hadn't closed it properly on his way out.

Simple as that.

Now stop jumping at shadows he chided himself as he moved quickly to shut and lock the door himself.

Letting out a relieved breath, he ran a trembling hand through still damp hair, turned…and froze. A strange sense of déjà vu overcoming him even as reality slipped away and unbridled terror made a spectacular return visit..

Standing across the room someone stood, partially obscured in the shadows but unmistakable nonetheless. They made some sort of noise and Darien shivered when he realized it was a throaty chuckle.

The figure took a faltering step towards him, then another and he unwittingly backed up until his bare body was flush against the door, the door that he had locked and bolted securely just moments before.

"Hello baby," Ella Craven rasped out, obviously amused by his shocked expression and the momentary flash of revulsion at her appearance. The right side of her once beautiful face was now horribly scarred and disfigured, a mass of scar tissue and what looked like open blisters in places, and Darien could tell from the way she held herself that the damage and scarring probably ran down the entire right side of her body. The left side seemed unscathed and the hand that held the gun and motioned him away from the door was steady and unwavering.

"We have some unfinished business, you and I," she advised, watching as he moved into the center of the room, almost in an exact re-enactment of their very first meeting all those long months previously. Of course, on that occasion he hadn't been buck naked, mores the pity. She giggled again at that thought and Darien shifted uncomfortably.

"You're dead… they told me..." he finally found his voice.

Ella dragged her withered body another step closer to him. "They saw what they wanted to see, Darien. I managed to drag myself out of that wreckage." Her tone was raw and he guessed that her vocal chords had been damaged in the inferno. "And I've been living a nightmare ever since, enduring months of agony for _one_ reason only. Do you know what that is?"

He swallowed.

"For _you_ angel," she offered without hesitation, as if it were the most logical thing in the world. "But I can't endure…this…any longer." Motioning at her disfigurement. "And we need to be together…it's our destiny."

"Aw crap."

As she took two more faltering steps in his direction, Darien eyes locked on in horror-filled realization to the explosive devise strapped to her emaciated body. Staring around desperately, willing an escape route to magically appear.

Another step closer and he acted on instinct, triggering the Quicksilver to coat his body as he lunged to the side. Not really having much of a plan beyond keeping her as far away from him as possible.

The gun blast was thunderous in the confines of the small apartment and at first Darien didn't realize he'd been hit until his legs suddenly buckled beneath him and the Quicksilver dispersed into thousands of silvery flecks that wafted gently in the air around him as his boneless body crumbled to the floor. He gazed numbly at the small entry hole on the left side of his chest, wondering idly why there was no pain, no fear, just an overwhelming sense of sadness and of the inevitable as Ella Craven dragged her withered form towards him, the smoking gun now discarded as she knelt at his side, trailing blackened, mutilated fingers along his temple and then down to his cheek.

Darien waited now, powerless to move as he felt his essence grow weaker. Darkness was gradually encroaching his vision as Ella activated the digital timer on the explosive devise to countdown from five, and then shifted to cover his body with her own.

"Our destiny, baby," she repeated blissfully, as her lips crushed brutally against his one final time. Then a flash of pure, blinding white light and…

…he came awake and sprang upright with a violent jerk sending a startled Claire stumbling back a few steps in alarm.

" I am so sorry, Darien," she began through a nervous giggle. "You just looked so…never mind. I didn't mean to wake you." Her smile faded. and her expression took on one of concern as she registered her Kept's wide-eyed panicked expression and his attempt to get his breathing under control. She knelt at his side. "Are you alright, sweetheart?"

"Night…" breath, breath, "mare," he managed to gasp out eventually. "Be okay…in a …minute." Gulp. Another deep breath.

Not convinced at all, she laid her palm over his forehead. "You're a little feverish. It must have been some nightmare?"

_You'd better believe it, lady._

Darien nodded numbly, leaning into and welcoming his Keeper's soothing touch. It sort of assured him that he was in the land of the living and his body parts were, well, still part of his body..

A second later Bobby Hobbes appeared, frowning down at the seriously freaked ashen individual on the couch. "_Whoa_ partner, you look like you've seen a ghost," he offered helpfully. "I was just about to escort our two young lovelies home, but if you…"

His voice trailed off as a suddenly miraculously recovered Darien jumped up from the couch in a flash, grabbing his jacket as he scrambled for the door and raced outside ahead of them.

"Great! I could do with some fresh night air," he called over his shoulder by way of an explanation to his friends.

Bobby exchanged bemused looks with Claire and Alex and then with a chuckle and a shrug he followed his partner from his apartment.

The dark non-descript vehicle was parked in the shadows on the corner of the block, just beyond the wide arc of the street lamp. The figure seated within had been there for a very long time - just watching and waiting - knowing that time and patience would eventually yield their own reward.

It was late and it had been an unexpected turn when _he _had emerged from his apartment block followed by that bitch, Claire Keeply, Agent Hobbes and the other woman; all four of them clambering into the decrepit battered tan van.

Just for a second as the van slowly pulled out, the light from its headlamps illuminated the interior of the car and trailed across the horrifically disfigured face of the lone female passenger.

_Your destiny is not always the one you seek, but always the one that finds you._

_- Unknown._

THE END


End file.
